


I pretend that we’re the oldest and dearest of friends (as opposed to what we actually are)

by paddingtonfan69



Category: Teenage Bounty Hunters (TV)
Genre: (but the situation is a little more nuanced than that), Alternate Universe - You've Got Mail Fusion, Canon Compliant, Coming Out, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, but!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 57,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28694967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paddingtonfan69/pseuds/paddingtonfan69
Summary: Sterling found herself drawn to the anonymity of the letter writing. No one made her sign her own name, so she didn’t. Just like that. She wasn’t Blair’s sister or Luke’s girlfriend or the girl with the second highest grades in the fifth grade, she was just a person writing a letter. She signed it TS on a whim, because, well, she was still deeply in a Taylor Swift phase and ever since April had just - well, she just didn’t have anyone to talk to about it anymore. So she wrote letters to some random girl miles away, bent over a big wooden table with a curated variety of gel pens. It was fun, freeing, and something that was solely hers.And then, even better, she got them back.___Or, there's no way in hell that the two girls with the years long anonymous friendship who wrote letters to each other at camp and now frequently email could be the same two girls who are sworn enemies at school, right?Created with awe and reverence for You've Got Mail (1998).
Relationships: April Stevens/Sterling Wesley
Comments: 498
Kudos: 458





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A multichapter??? in this economy??? This started as a fun idea and then fully got away from me into the longest thing I've ever written on here, and features maybe even MORE idiocy than usual from these two, so buckle up!

**i. she’s, like, the coolest**

Camp ends abruptly the summer before sixth grade. Sterling sits in the back seat of her mom’s car, watching the trees and the river go by, feeling a finality she can’t quite name. In her hand, she holds a neatly folded envelope carefully between her thumb and pointer finger.

“Are you gonna read it?” Blair asks so quietly their parents can’t hear.

“Hmm?” Sterling turns away from the window and blinks at her sister. 

“The last letter? From your pen pal or whatever? Are you gonna read it?”

Sterling holds the letter tightly. The thing is, she really _really_ doesn’t want it to be the last. 

It’s been a weird summer, the world feeling slightly off-kilter ever since in rapid succession that spring, Zayn had left One Direction and then April had stopped talking to her and it then suddenly it was the last summer of camp before they aged out of it. Now, the prospect of going back to school somehow more grown up than before looms over her, combined with the strange and gleeful anticipation of new classes and having a _boyfriend_ waiting for her; the unwavering feeling that an era is over now, and it’s impossible to go back. 

And it really didn’t help that Blair is still better than her at like, every physical and social part of camp.

The only part of the summer that felt peaceful was this little room with Jenny, one of the counselors who had a high ponytail and a wide smile and was very organized, something that Sterling found herself drawn to. Jenny had them write letters to the girls at another camp up in Clarkesville. It didn’t really matter what was in their letters, mostly just nonsense about their day, or what they wanted to do when they got home. Sterling thinks it was just Jenny’s way of looking out for the girls who didn’t want to go kayaking every day. Which Sterling _really_ appreciated. 

She found herself drawn to the anonymity of the letter writing. No one made her sign her own name, so she didn’t. Just like that. She wasn’t Blair’s sister or Luke’s girlfriend or the girl with the second highest grades in the fifth grade, she was just a person writing a letter. She signed it TS on a whim, because, well, she was still deeply in a Taylor Swift phase and ever since April had just - well, she just didn’t have anyone to talk to about it anymore. So she wrote letters to some random girl miles away, bent over a big wooden table with a curated variety of gel pens. It was fun, freeing, and something that was solely hers.

And then, even better, she got them back. 

Whoever it was didn’t sign their name either, just a simple _A_ , which Sterling was pretty sure was a reference to _Pretty Little Liars_ , even though Sterling and Blair weren't allowed to watch _Pretty Little Liars_ , but Sterling snuck a couple of the books from the library one time and was thoroughly scandalized. 

Either way, Sterling liked A from her very first letter. Much better than anyone in _Pretty Little Liars_ , that's for sure. A had a way of writing like she was far older than Sterling knew they both were, describing small things in a way that makes them seem important and dramatic. Sterling found herself grinning down at the letters more often than not. 

_There is this girl in my cabin named Kayetlin,_ A would write, _and honestly I knew she would be annoying just from the spelling of that name alone. K-A-Y-E-T-L-I-N. Abysmal. Anyway, I caught her kissing a boy from one of the boys’ camps down the road and first of all, we all share a cabin, how thick-skulled can you be to choose a communal space to make out in? Secondly, I have personally witnessed her leaving in the morning without brushing her teeth, so I feel for the poor sucker. Though I suppose beggars can’t be choosers. Either way, now Kaytelin thinks I’m going to tell on her, which I easily could, but it’s more fun to dangle this over her._

_Before I left, my mother asked me why I don’t have many friends at school, which I find is a terrible thing to ask a daughter. I think she expects me to make friends at camp, but if that’s the case, I’m afraid I’ll disappoint her, when the people here are girls like Kayetlin. This is so embarrassing, but probably the closest person I’ve made to a friend here is you, and you aren’t even at my camp and I don’t know your name. This isn’t me asking for your name either by the way. I think it’s fun to not know each other’s names, it makes it feel like we’re in a Jane Austen novel or something._

_A_

_  
__  
__  
__Dear A,_

_First of all, not brushing your teeth in the morning is gross to start with, and then to add kissing on top of that?? YUCK. They must be really desperate. The first time I kissed anyone I brushed my teeth, then chewed gum, put one of those listerine strips on my tongue and I was still nervous my breath smelled bad. I do not know where Kayetlin is coming from here._

_Secondly, I kind of like that I'm the closest friend you’ve made. That’s probably selfish or whatever, obviously there are people there who know your name and stuff who would be lucky to hang out with you, but I feel pretty lucky to write these letters to you. If it makes you feel any better, I think you’re the best friend I’ve made this summer too._

_And I totally agree, it’s fun to not know each other’s names. It’s nice to have someone like me just for words I say, without any of the weird middle school social stuff. I feel like I know everything I need to know just from what you say and I hope the reverse is true too!_

_I’m excited to get back to school next month (I know, I’m a dork), but I will miss writing to you, however lame that sounds. If you need me to, I can write to your mom and tell her you definitely made a friend here :)_

_Love,_

_TS_

That had been the last letter Sterling had sent before they had been picked up, and now, the final one from A sits in her hand, like a goodbye that Sterling doesn’t want to make. 

“I’ll read it when I get home,” she tells Blair. Blair gives her a curious look but doesn’t press.

She waits until Blair has settled into a post-drive nap and her parents are downstairs. She isn’t sure why she needs to be alone, but it feels better this way, more private. 

It’s sealed with a sticker, a light pink heart that Sterling makes sure not to break as she carefully opens the envelope and unfolds the piece of paper inside. She smiles at the handwriting, a precise cursive. Sterling never learned cursive in school, making it all the more exciting that she’s gets an insight into this other person, who must go to some other school where they actually do teach it. 

_Dear TS,_

_I will admit that I did not expect to enjoy our correspondence so much, but there is something thrilling about someone who knows nothing about you (besides the fact that we both have attended a Christian camp in Georgia, but truly, who hasn’t?). All this to say, when I go back to school, there will inevitably be new social hierarchies, but still old drama, and I fully intend to make the most of it. However, it would be nice to have someone to talk to outside all of that._

_If you’re not interested, I fully understand, but if so, my email address is leiaorgana04@gmail.com. I think it could be fun to have a secret anonymous correspondent that no one knows about but us. No pressure or anything, but I’m here if you want to keep talking. Either way, I have thoroughly enjoyed writing with you over the past few weeks._

_Love,_

_A_

Sterling smiles, holds the letter to her chest, smiles again. It’s silly, she knows, to care about someone liking her just for her, her own words, enough to want to keep talking to her. She carefully folds the letter up and puts it into her third desk drawer, in the back so it's one else’s, just hers. 

“Sterling! Phone!” her mom calls from downstairs. “It’s Luuuuke.”

Sterling grins, closes the drawer and basically skips downstairs. She has a new friend; she has a boyfriend; she’s home. 

“Leia Organa is a _Star Wars_ thing, right?” she asks Luke as soon as she gets to the phone. 

“Uh, yeah, babe, _duh,”_ he says, smile apparent in his voice, “she’s, like, the coolest.”

“Of course she is.”

“Why?”

“No reason, just wondering.” 

She’s not quite sure why she doesn’t tell Luke, why she didn’t tell her parents, why the only person she told about A is Blair, and that’s only because she tells Blair absolutely everything. But it’s nice to have something for once that is just hers. 

**ii. common denominators**

Tiffany Sanders. Tia Sanchez. Tamara Schmider. 

April places her pen on the S’s of the school directory and scans through them, hunched over a library table, circling any others that have those particular initials. It’s silly, inane, there are hundreds of middle schools in the greater Atlanta area, who is to even say that TS is Atlanta-based, but still, there is a chance. A small chance that she’s _here._

“Watcha doing?”

April starts, quickly covering up the directory with her textbooks, then glaring up at the too-cheery face of Sterling Wesley. She’s gotten a little taller this summer, and her hair is blonder, light streaks in her stupid French braids, but her smile is the same smile, big and hopeful, like someone who can ruin friendships at the drop of the hat and have a good time doing it.

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business,” April responds smoothly, getting a small sense of satisfaction at the way Sterling’s shoulders slump. 

Her satisfaction disappears when Sterling chooses to sit at the table across from her with no invitation. 

“April,” she whispers, maybe because it’s a library, maybe for dramatic emphasis, “are we really gonna be like this all year? I don’t know what happened to you-”

“What happened to me?” April snaps, a little too shrill for the library. “Nothing has changed with _me_ , unless there is something about me that you just don’t want to be around.”

“What are you talking about?”

April grits her teeth. “Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not-”

“You know what, I don’t have to deal with this.” 

April gathers up her things, still careful to hide her list of TS’s from Sterling. The only thing more embarrassing than a former friend who doesn’t want her, is a former friend who can see that the only friend she’s made since is a stranger who hasn’t actually met April. 

She doesn’t turn around as she walks out of the library. 

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** “Friends”

_Dear TS,_

_Sometimes I don’t understand how people can slip back and forth from being someone who wants to spend time with you and seems interested in what you say, to someone who doesn’t want to see you anymore. I know we were warned that entering adolescence wouldn’t be fun, but this feels ridiculous. My daddy says that 12-year-old girls are scarier than grown men at times, and I always thought that was a little unfair (I mean his own daughter is going to be 12 in a few months), but I think I get where he's coming from._

_How do you find people who won’t, for the risk of sounding dramatic, stab you in the back?_

_A_

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: “Friends”

_Dear A,_

_Okay, I don’t know who you go to school with, but they sound like a lot of b-words, excuse my language. I do get what you mean, sometimes there are people who you thought you were your friends and then for no reason at all, they aren’t? Maybe some people are just mean, I don’t know._

_But I do know that you deserve way better than them. I’m sure you’ll find your people, A, you’ve already found one here <3 _

_Love,_

_TS_

The Hannahs are fighting.

April perches on the picnic table next to them and watches, trying to decipher exactly where the conflict originated. 

“So Hannah G. had a crush on Franklin,” a voice tells her to her left, “but he let Hannah B. copy his math homework and then Hannah S. told Hannah G. so now Hannah G. thinks that Hannah B. is trying to steal him or something.”

April turns to see Ezekiel Lewis nod his head toward the now very loud turn the Hannah fight has taken. He’s smiling a little, clearly amused at the whole situation. April’s never really talked to Ezekiel before, he mostly just stays quiet at the back of class, watching like he knows more than he lets on. Which he clearly does.

“All this over _Franklin?”_ April says. 

Ezekiel cracks a grin, and April feels a small burst of victory at it.

“The real problem here is that Hannah B. needs serious help in math,” Ezekiel says, “and clearly Franklin is not the person to go to on that.” 

They laugh together as Hannah G. gets closer to Hannah B.’s face, until Hannah B. starts crying, and then it’s not funny anymore. Ezekiel’s words and TS’s last email stick in her head, and before she can overthink it, April calls out. 

“Hey, Hannah!”

All three Hannahs’ heads turn to her at once.

“B.,” she clarifies. 

Hannah B. looks confused, head turning to April, then back to the other Hannahs, before quickly scurrying to April. Good choice.

“So I heard a rumor-” April starts. 

“I didn’t- it wasn’t-”

“-that you need help with your math homework.”

Hannah B. blinks. She looks from April to Ezekiel before smiling a tentative smile. 

“Yeah, that would be nice,” she says, sniffing, “I still don’t get what common denominators are.”

April bites her tongue on how easy it is to use common denominators. She’s pretty sure Ezekiel does the same but he scoots over to let Hannah B. sit next to him and gets out his textbook. April smiles, looks back at where Hannah G. and Hannah S. are gawking at them. 

April gathers up her anger over the past few months at people who feel like they can just turn on their friends at a moment's notice and channels it into her glare. 

“Can I help you with something?” She says acerbically, raising one eyebrow, something she’s been practicing in the mirror. 

She’s delighted when it works, and Hannah G. flinches away from their table, muttering something under her breath to Hannah S. 

“Well done,” Ezekiel says quietly over Hannah B.’s head. 

“Thanks,” April smiles. 

“So if you’re adding a third and a half, the common denominator would be five?” Hannah B. asks. 

“No,” April and Ezekiel say in unison. 

April grins. 

After school, she goes back to the library and logs into one of the computers that faces away from the door. She isn’t allowed to get a smartphone until next year and for some reason the idea of logging in to this specific email on her family desktop at home feels dangerous. 

It shouldn’t, there is no reason to be scared. All she’s doing is emailing a camp friend. Her parents would probably be happy she made a friend in the first place. But the idea of them finding out about TS makes April feel sick in a way she can’t decipher. It’s the same way her stomach turns when her dad immediately changes the channel when _Modern Family_ comes on; the same way she wanted to throw up a little when her mom gave her a knowing look before the school year started and told her sixth grade is when girls start to bring boys around. 

She already knows that the sixth grade is not where she is getting a boyfriend. She doubts seventh or eighth grade either. Or maybe ever. The only things she feels toward boys is the occasional odd spark of camaraderie like she had with Ezekiel earlier today, and last year’s rush of jealousy toward Luke Creswell when he insisted that he needed to be the next to Sterling every single second of every single day. Mostly boys are people who are just there, background players who just happen less interesting. 

She’s pretty sure that is not the kind of emotion that leads to having a boyfriend anytime soon.

Which is another thing she does not need to tell her parents. April’s too smart not to know that there is a connection between that and why she doesn’t want to tell them about TS or Adele or Rachel or Sterling or Nina, but she presses that thought down whenever it comes too close to the surface. 

She has an email to send. 

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** “Friends”

_Thank you for the advice. I think I did it. Found my people, that is._

_A_

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: “Friends”

_I never had any doubt you would._

_Love,_

_TS_

**iii. go to the mattresses part one**

“You should audition,” Blair says, the tenth time she catches Sterling staring at the sign up list in the hallway.

Sterling jumps a little. Blair grins at her. 

“Look, musicals are lame as hell-”

“Oh my gosh, Blair, don’t say H-E-double-hockey-sticks!”

Blair rolls her eyes. “-but they would be way less lame if you were in them.”

Sterling smiles down to herself, looks warily around the hallway. 

“But I don’t - I don’t even know if I can sing, like in front of other people. You’ve always been better at it anyway.”

Blair takes her by the shoulders. “First of all, I am far too cool for this. But you can do anything, Sterl. Duh. Also like, people can never sing in these things. I still get nightmares from _Seussical_ last year.”

Sterling looks at the list. There are only two other names on the list so far, Jessica and April. Sterling rolls her eyes at April’s name being in _cursive_ , April would have gone so far as to self-teach. 

Sterling takes a deep breath in as she grabs the pencil and carefully writes her name with it. 

“Well isn’t this adorable.”

Of course. Sterling takes a deep breath and tries to calm herself. 

“April,” Blair says, stepping in front of Sterling, arms crossed. 

April ignores her, eyes focused on Sterling, raising one eyebrow effortlessly. Sterling doesn’t know when she learned to do that.

“Which part?” April asks, tilting her head to the sign up sheet. 

“Uh, you know, Annie,” Sterling says, trying to be casual. 

April scoffs. “The lead? Really? You?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Blair says, drawing herself up to her full height. 

April grins. “Nothing, nothing at all. I think it’s… cute that you think you could get the lead.” She reaches out and pats Sterling condescendingly on the upper arm. “I’m sure the years of voice and dance lessons will really come in handy at the auditions, right?” April tilts her head, looking like she’s thinking. “Wait a minute, you didn’t have years of voice and dance lessons, did you?”

Sterling pulls her arm away and looks down, wishing she could fall through the floor. 

“You’re just jealous,” Blair is saying, always sticking up for her even though Sterling would really prefer just to leave at this moment.

“Please,” April says, “me? Jealous? Of your sister?”

“Yeah, because unlike you, people actually like Sterling. If you got Annie people would wish she stayed in that orphanage.”

If Sterling wasn’t so focused on trying not to cry, she might notice how April flinches back a little at that, but instead she just looks at her own name on the audition and crosses it off. 

“You can’t let her get to you like that,” Blair says as they sit in the back of their mom’s car on the way home. 

“Let who get to you, hun?” Debbie asks from the front seat.

“Stupid April,” Blair grumbles. 

Sterling just sinks down further into the backseat.

“Blair Wesley, that’s not a nice thing to say about anyone,” Debbie scolds, “aren’t y’all friends?”

“Old news, mom. She just one day decided to be a big old… jerk.”

“Blair…”

“She told Sterling she wasn’t good enough to be Annie.”

Debbie’s eyes find Sterling’s in the rearview mirror. 

“Honey, is that true?”

Sterling nods, and watches her mother’s mouth turn into a frown in the mirror. 

“Sterling,” Debbie says, voice tighter, “don’t you dare let anyone tell you what you can’t do.”

“That’s what I said!” Blair echoes. 

“I know,” Sterling says, looking down at her hands, “but, I mean you’re my _mom_ and Blair’s my _twin_ , you, like, have to be nice to me.”

“We would say nice things to you even if that wasn’t true,” Debbie says, her voice sounding weird and scratchy for a second, before going back to normal, “so you go back there tomorrow and sign up for that musical.”

“Fine,” Sterling grumbles, though she has no plans to do that. 

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** UGH

_Dear A,_

_Do you ever think that people only tell you good things about yourself because they love you? I wonder if there’s anything I’m actually good at, you know? My sister is better at sports than I am, my boyfriend knows more about movies than I do. I know I’m halfway decent at school, but there’s one person who is always just a bit better than me and she knows it too, which makes it worse._

_The problem is, sometimes I think I believe her more than I believe people in my family. There is no obligation for this girl to be mean to me, right? But there is one for my family to be nice to me. So there must be something about me that she can see that she just knows isn’t good enough._

_Sorry if this is super depressing, it’s just been a bad day._

_Love,_

_TS_

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: UGH

_Dear TS,_

_I’m trying to say this in the nicest way, but that’s ridiculous. Get it together. That may have been harsh, but I’m leaving it, because, trust me, even just from writing with you for a year and a half now, it’s clear that you are someone special._

_You should know that I don’t pass out compliments often, but you are clearly in dire need of one from someone who is not related to you, so my moment has come. First of all, just because someone is related to you doesn’t mean they are necessarily going to be praising you. I constantly feel like I have to earn the respect and affection of my parents, so trust me, it’s not all unconditional._

_Secondly, there have been many times over the past year where I have felt isolated, even from my friends, even from my family, and your encouraging words have brought me back. There is an intrinsic kindness that shines through when you write, and I am honestly sometimes envious of it. The fact that you blend that kindness with actually being funny and interesting is rare indeed._

_So take that to your “super depressing thoughts” if you will. And as for the girl at school who made you feel this way, I bet she’s just jealous._

_And, once again, get it together._

_Love,_

_A_

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: UGH

_Wow, you really got me on this one. You just made me smile so big at my computer that my sister asked if I was talking to my boyfriend. Oops._

_But seriously, thank you. I don’t know why this girl at school has the power to make me feel so bad about myself, but she really does. You’re like the opposite of that, I guess. Seriously, thank you thank you thank you. There’s something I wasn’t going to do, but you’ve convinced me! What would I do without you?_

_Love,_

_TS_

_P.S.: I don’t want to pry or anything - my momma says it’s rude to ask about people’s family stuff, but I think you’re pretty great too, and if your parents of all people don’t see that, then they are missing out! How can they not realize they have the best kid around? If you ever want to talk about family stuff, know that I’m around!_

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: UGH

 _Well, I’m glad to see that you have had a change of heart. And for what it’s worth, I think you should find that_ **_bitch_ ** _at school who makes you feel this way in the first place and show her that no one can mess you around._

_Make me proud, TS._

_Love,_

_A_

_PS: Thank you, but it’s really not that big of a deal. Family is family, you know. We’re all on the same team, striving for perfection. Mostly days, I would say were about ninety percent there. But I do appreciate your kind words._

  
  


When the day of the audition comes, Sterling is sitting next to April, because of course she is.

April’s hair is shinier than usual, perfectly styled to fall over her shoulder in waves. Sterling internally rolls her eyes; it’s not like hair will make a difference when the show makes you wear a dumb wig anyway. 

“What are you staring at?” April asks, arms crossed and mouth turned down. 

“Your hair looks pretty,” Sterling says cheerily, watching with satisfaction as April’s face channels through surprise, confusion, something indecipherable, then back to a default anger. 

“Whatever tactic this is, it won’t work,” she hisses. 

Sterling shrugs, smiling to herself. She still can’t get over the fact that A, ever grammatically correct and polite A, who always writes like she is a teacher, deigned to use the word _bitch_ about _April._ It makes Sterling hold in a laugh. 

“Why are you smiling so much?” April presses. 

“Just thinking,” Sterling says. 

April glares. “About what?”

Sterling leans a little closer, emboldened. 

“About how I’m going to get the part.”

  
  


**iv. pardon my language but fuck it**

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** boys

_Dear A,_

_My sister has suddenly decided she wants a boyfriend, now that we’re about to start high school. Which is totally fine, she’s literally the best person I know, she deserves a boyfriend more than anyone, if that’s what she wants. But, oh my gosh, the guys she has chosen are questionable at best. And whenever I call her on it, she reminds me that I don’t get it because I’ve had a boyfriend for forever._

_I still think she deserves better. Does that make me a bad sister?_

_Love,_

_TS_

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: boys

_Dear TS,_

_In my humble only child opinion, I don’t think it makes you a bad sister at all. I think 14-year-old boys are perhaps the worst kind of people on the planet. Hopefully the one you’ve found is better than the rest. The same guy since camp, right? Unless there is a rotation of TS men that I haven’t been informed about._

_If that's the case, I will withhold my judgement, but I doubt they are good enough for you. Just like how I’m sure those boys aren’t good enough for your sister._

_Love,_

_A_

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: boys 

_Okay, definitely no string of boys, the one is fine for me. I feel very lucky to have found one of the only good 14-year-old boys out there._

_How about you? I feel like in the three years (omg!!!) we’ve been talking, you haven’t mentioned any guys or crushes. Which is totally cool or whatever, I doubt there are any boys worthy of you honestly, unless your school has better pickings then mine. But anyway, just wanted to let you know that you’re free to chat about any of that stuff with me. Only if you want to though. Duh._

_Love,_

_TS_

April sucks a deep breath in, lets it out slowly, counting to ten. Her hands hover over the keyboard. She clenches them and then unclenches them. The silence of the house weighs on her. She knows Daddy is away on business and Mom is out on one of her Publix trips that takes at least two hours, but still, the idea of either of them walking into her room at this moment makes her turn around and face the door. 

Ever since her daddy gave her a laptop for her thirteenth birthday, April has been careful. She lives in incognito windows, makes sure Chrome doesn’t save her passwords, especially to _this_ email address. She had created it three years ago simply to talk to TS, but it’s gotten to a point over the past year of her using that email to browse YouTube videos that are exclusively 18+, scenes from movies that make her flush red only when her door is locked and her parents are gone, creating a kindle account to read _Bible Trouble_ (which had some thought provoking essays and others that she felt disrespected the text a little too much, but either way, being able to read the word _queer_ so many times in relation to the Bible filled her with something she couldn’t quite name, but made her want to cry and celebrate at the same time).

It’s been a long few years of analyzing each thought that crosses through her head, storing it away to cross reference when she is alone, with her private browsers and private email account, clearing her history as soon as she gets answers. She’s never put anything in writing before, a fear still rising even after searching JStor for the word “lesbian.” She knows, logistically, that she is being as safe as possible, that her parents aren’t even technologically savvy. 

April looks back at the email from TS. She’s gotten too good at this, looking at herself in a magnifying glass, able to name the small rush of jealousy when TS talked about her boyfriend, not that it’s anything new; TS’s boyfriend has been a constant in the past few years, a constant reminder that anything even adjacent to a crush on a girl whose face she has never seen and name she will never know is hopeless. 

But, God, sometimes it’s the little things, the _I doubt there are any boys worthy of you_ comments, that make half of April’s mouth turn up in a smile before she can stop herself. It’s silly, deeply unfounded, but it’s nice. To have this anonymous person say sweet things to her with no motivation but to simply say them. April wonders if those nice things would go away if April told her. Probably. The only things based on factual evidence she really knows about TS are that she went to church camp, has a boyfriend, and has a good relationship with her family. None of those exactly scream “ally.” She lets out a long breath before replying. 

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: boys

_Good to know re: chain of boys. Happy for you and this boy who I assume is actually someone who can string more than two words together._

_As for me, I’m afraid there is not much to report. My mother calls me a late bloomer, which I find remarkably condescending as someone who can have more academic conversations at fourteen than she could ever dream of. But maybe she’s right, that romance is just something that will be in my cards later. As for now, it’s a big chasm of nothing._

_A_

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: boys

_You know what? Pardon my language, but fuck it. I lied in that last email. Yes, there are no boys in my future, but I hope someday, someday far away from here, far away from my parents, there will be romance._

_With a girl. Because I’m gay. I’m a lesbian._

_I’ve never said that out loud before. Well, I still haven’t. But writing this is more than I ever thought I would. It helps that I don’t know who you are, and more importantly, that you don’t know who I am, where I live, who my family is._

_This is just like releasing it into the void. So, void, I hope that this is not the last time I write to you. I hope that this does not make you think any differently of me. If it does, well, that’s between you and God, honestly._

_It’s been a nice three years, TS._

_Love,_

_A_

April quickly logs out, clears her history, closes the window, shuts down her laptop. She looks down at her knee, sees that it’s shaking. That won’t do. As quickly as she can, she throws on gym shorts and sneakers and practically sprints down the stairs, before quite literally sprinting out the door. 

She makes it five blocks in the summer Georgia heat before stopping to lean over, palms on her knees. Sweat drips from her face onto the hot cement and her breath comes out in short bursts. 

She told her. She told someone. A real person. She may have ruined the, embarrassingly, most consistent friendship she’s had in her adolescence so far, by telling her the closest kept secret to her chest, but she told someone. April thinks she might throw up, but she pushes past it and keeps running. 

There’s an overlook about a mile from her house, a bench and a patch of grass that looks out over the city. April collapses onto the bench, lying down on her back with her feet dangling off the edge, not caring that her white t-shirt is probably getting dirt on it, not caring that she is most likely severely dehydrated. 

It feels good to have her blood all rushing to her face, to have the cool wooden slats of the bench against her arms. It feels good to know that she typed the words _I’m a lesbian_ and nothing happened. No smiting. She blinks up at the blindingly blue sky. 

“You got me, right?” She asks out loud. The sky just stares back at her. Figures. 

April never checks her email, never checks _that_ email, on her phone. But today is not a normal day. It’s been only ten minutes, she reminds herself, but she continues, shakily logging into a new browser. There is one unread email. April inhales sharply, sending up a quick prayer before opening it.

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** girls!

_Dear A,_

_Okay first off, don’t EVER think that I would stop talking to you for any reason. Especially not because you’re gay. You’re amazing, no matter what. This even makes you more amazing. And besides, I was totally right, there IS no boy worthy of you._

_I know that parents can be hard and I assume from where we both went to camp that it’s not the most accepting place, but I want you to know you have someone in your corner here. And I’m sure that your parents will come around someday. They have the best daughter in the world, remember?_

_And I know that someday, you are going to make some girl so happy. How could you not? You make me happy whenever I get an email from you and I’m just your pen pal. Someone out there is the luckiest girl in the world and she doesn’t even know it yet._

_Thank you for telling me. I’m here if you need anything <3_

_Your friend ALWAYS,_

_TS_

April’s not proud of it, but she cries. The sun sets over the Atlanta skyline and April cries big messy tears over someone saying “always,” over there being evidence in writing that telling someone didn’t destroy the fabric of her world. She cries with relief but also a gnawing pain in her, the knowledge that no matter what sweet, innocent, TS says, her parents won’t ever come around. Not really. But she has someone on her side now, she told someone and they responded with nothing but kindness. And maybe, right now, that’s enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, everyone has been so nice about this fic, y'all are the best! 
> 
> Just a light warning that this chapter contains some classique John Stevens homophobia so, you know, watch out for that. Also, in this world, April's mom's name is Melanie.

**v. distract me part one**

“April’s parents are fighting.”

Sterling follows Hannah B.’s gaze to April, bent over her desk, eye dropper clenched in her hand as she waters her seedling, face looking like far more is at stake here than the a grade in tenth grade biology. 

“Is that why you wanted to partner for this project?”

Hannah B. nods. Sterling nods back. She knows Hannah B. isn’t always the sharpest knife in the drawer, but it was a smart move on her part; Ezekiel looks like he'd rather be anywhere else as April snaps at him for how he’s logging the info on their plants. 

“Good call,” Sterling tells Hannah B.

Still, she looks up at April, remembering a day in the fourth grade when she had slept over at April’s and heard something break in the kitchen and April’s face had gone white, smile disappearing. 

“Should we see what’s up?” Sterling had asked, leaning up from where her head had been lying on April’s stomach. 

April had shaken her head. 

“My daddy… he’s just clumsy sometimes.”

Sterling hadn’t fully believed her, not with the way her whole body had tensed, but Sterling had been content to ignore it, to shift her focus on trying to make April smile again.

Now, though, no she realizes just a little more. She goes back to her plants, feeling a twinge of sympathy for someone who she’s not used to feeling that particular emotion toward. 

Sterling’s early to Spanish that afternoon and there's a moment where it’s just her and April in the classroom. Sterling leans forward in her desk, considering, just for a second, asking April If she wants to talk. Which is crazy, April hasn’t wanted to talk in years, but she looks so sad, hunched over her phone at her desk, her normally perfect posture gone. 

She’s about to do it, about to reach over and tap April’s shoulder, when her phone buzzes loudly against the plastic of her seat. Sterling pulls it out and smiles a little when she sees what it is.

April turns back suspiciously. 

“It’s just my mom,” Sterling lies quickly. Sure, she might want to comfort April, but she’s definitely not telling April why she got a gooey little smile on her face at this particular notification. 

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Bad Day

_Distract me._

Sterling feels a flutter of worry in her chest, but she quells it. There’s two minutes until class officially starts, so she quickly finds a dumb BuzzFeed quiz.

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: Bad Day

_Okay, this quiz makes you choose what kind of cake to bake and then it will tell you which character from Glee you are. I gotta go right now but more distractions later, I promise. You know you can tell me anything, but I totally get it if you don’t want to <3 _

Sterling puts her phone away at the last second, earning _another_ glare from April, but she just smiles at her, then shifts her focus to conjugations. 

“You okay?” Blair asks her after class. It’s sometimes annoying how she always knows. 

“Yeah, I’m just worried about… a friend.”

Blair’s eyebrows furrow. “What friend?”

Sterling ignores her because her phone has finally buzzed. She pulls it out in the hallway, not caring. 

“Oh, that friend.”

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: Bad Day

_That quiz is preposterous. There is no correlation between baking and who you are on a television show that aired almost a decade ago._

_But thank you._

_A_

_P.S. I fake baked a red velvet cake and they told me I was Santana, whatever that means. My parents didn’t let me watch Glee. I’d like to think it was a matter of taste rather than the real reason, just for peace of mind.  
_

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: Bad Day

_Of course there’s no correlation between the cake and the show, that’s what makes it fun! Santana’s kind of my favorite actually, she’s like really mean but is normally right, and her songs are the best. She’s also gay!!! Anyway, Glee was like, really bad, but it was pretty fun. She would kill me if I told you this, but my sister was super into it when we were like, 12, so she made us watch the whole thing one summer. I don’t think you would like it, because you strike me as someone with good taste, but it’s pretty messed up that your parents didn’t let you watch it. If those reasons are what I think they are._

_Anyway, I don’t think I’m doing a good job distracting you, oops. Here’s a youtube video of people putting cucumbers on the ground and they scare cats. A classic._

_Love,_

_TS_

She presses send just as she feels herself bump into someone. 

“Watch where you’re going!” 

Sterling looks up from her phone to see April, red faced and hands clenched at her side. 

“Sorry,” Sterling mumbles. 

“Have you ever thought about _anyone_ but yourself?” April snaps.

Before Sterling can point out that the reason that she was even looking down was literally because she was thinking about something that’s not herself, April’s down the hallway in a flurry of anger. 

“What’s her damage?” Blair wonders loudly enough so that April can probably still hear. 

Sterling shrugs. “Her parents are fighting.”

“So what? Our parents fight all the time.”

“I don’t know, it’s probably different! Mom and Dad don’t really fight anyway. I would call them spats.”

Blair shrugs. “Whatever. How’s the ol’ pen pal?”

“I don’t think she’s doing so well. I mean, she just - I worry about her a lot.”

“You could always, you know, hang out with her instead of _emailing_ like a boomer.”

“You don’t get it. We’re - she’s told me stuff, I’ve told her stuff, I don’t think either of us are ready for an identity reveal.”

Blair rolls her eyes with an, “okay, Bruce Wayne,” but she doesn’t push it further. 

Sterling is silently grateful for that. She’s also grateful when Luke finds them and tells Sterling he’s so sorry, but he has an emergency golf meet, and can’t hang out after school today. 

“Is that even a thing?” Blair asks. 

“It’s weirdly, like, super serious,” Luke says, “All the balls are just... missing? Sorry we can’t hang, babe.”

“It’s okay!” Sterling says, giving him a kiss on the cheek. Her phone is already vibrating with a response from A, and she knows she’s needed more in other places today. 

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: Bad Day

_Okay, I will admit that I am glad the dumb quiz at least told me I was your favorite character. I still don’t have any desire to watch Glee, even with that stunning endorsement._

_Unfortunately, your instincts are correct as to why my parents didn’t let me watch it. Most of the time, it’s easy to ignore, to just keep going. But last night there was an incident. My mom’s cousin is apparently in town for a business conference and my mom wants for us to get dinner with him. My father, however, does not. No reasons were explicitly stated of course. They never are._

_But I heard Daddy say, “I will not go have a friendly dinner with him and… that man, when they have chosen to live their lives in a way that goes against the Lord.”_

_Then my mom started yelling back, which she never does, all, “you will not tell me that I can’t get a meal with my own family.”_

_And he said, “no man who lives like that is family.”_

_They just kept going. He won of course. He always wins. I wonder if I’ll ever get to meet this man. My cousin, once removed, who probably has more in common with me than the people whose faces I see every day at school._

_I’m sorry for unloading this on you. Trust me, I am not normally one to overshare. I wouldn’t say it’s easy, but most days it is at least ninety percent doable to forget this one part of myself that clashes with the world around me. I love my parents, I love my father, even with all this. Yet, something in me knows that the reverse may not be true, if he knew the whole truth._

_God, this is maudlin. You send me a BuzzFeed quiz and I send you a dissertation. I just don’t know who else to talk to._

_Love,_

_A_

“Hey, Mom?”

Debbie looks up from the chicken she is deboning to meet Sterling’s tentative gaze. 

“Honey, are you okay?”

Sterling nods. She is okay, is the thing. _She_ is okay. She just needs to know. 

“Can I ask you a weird question?”

“You can ask me anything, sweetheart.”

Debbie takes her hands out of the meat and washes them, before sitting down at the counter next to Sterling. Her hand is warm on Sterling’s back and Sterling just _knows_. She knows in her heart that her mom would never. She would never stop loving Sterling or Blair no matter what. She leans into Debbie, lets a long breath out. 

“Could - if I had a friend who maybe got kicked out of her house or her parents didn’t want her anymore, could she stay here?”

Debbie’s eyebrows raise.

“I didn’t even know you and Blair had too many friends outside each other.”

“Hey!”

“Well, am I wrong?”

“It’s not -” Sterling considers for a moment, decides on some version of the truth. “It’s someone I met at camp a few years ago, we still talk sometimes and she’s not having a good time at home and if it came down to it, if she needed to stay here or our help or something, we would do that right? Those less fortunate and all that.”

Debbie smiles. “You are too good, sometimes, you know.” She kisses the top of Sterling’s head. “I’m going to need _a lot_ more details though.”

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: Bad Day

_A, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what else to say, except just let you know that we’re not all like that. There are people out there who love you, I’m sure, and will keep loving you no matter what._

_Okay, this is going to sound crazy because we’ve never met and we don’t know each other's names, but if things go bad with your family, just know you have someone in your corner. You can totally stay with me if it comes down to it, I even asked my mom. I swear I’m not a weirdo or anything, just someone who cares about you. And my family is chill too. Well, not chill, but also they love us. My sister always says that Mom would do anything for me specifically and that she’s just an afterthought, but it’s both of us. So offer stands. I don’t know if you’re in the greater Atlanta area, but if you are, mi casa es su casa. I promise we are normal(ish) people. I just want to help in any way I can._

_I’m always here for you to talk to about anything._

_Love love love,_

_TS_

**vi. robert and enrique part one**

April looks down at her potatoes, butter knife slicing through them easily. It’s not exactly fascinating to watch, but it’s better than her eyes darting back between her mom and her dad, trying not to soak in the tension. She also actively tries not to think about the offer sitting innocently in her inbox upstairs. It’s absurd, frankly, it’s naivete at its peak, but still, it sends a shiver of _something_ up April’s spine. Not that she can show any of it externally, can’t risk any crack in the façade, so watching the potatoes it is. 

“Ice cream!”

April jumps a little as her father suddenly leaps up from his chair, fork clattering onto the table. She sees her mom flinch too.

“Ice cream, John?” Melanie asks, voice tired. 

“Ice cream,” he repeats, his enthusiasm almost grating. 

“I think we have some in the freezer.”

“Nope!” John declares gleefully, before turning to April. “What do you say, baby girl? Let’s get out of the house.”

April watches as her mom’s shoulders ever-minutely fall, but then plasters on a smile for her husband and daughter. 

“You two have fun, now.”

It’s one of the unnamed traditions they have, just the two of them, after dinner drives to one of those ice cream parlors that still looks like it’s in the ‘50s, with its red vinyl booths and waitstaff in little hats. April always loves it, loves the way her dad insists on coming here even when April has arguably aged out of it, always saying there is no age limit for good, old-fashioned fun.

It feels different tonight, though. April can’t help but note the decor with cynicism, sure her dad wishes that certain laws would join the jukebox and soda fountain in being stuck in the ‘50s. Still, she smiles at him across the booth as he gives their usual order. 

“We’ll split a split,” he tells the waitress with a wink. She laughs back, and it’s a bit too chummy for April to want to unpack.

They talk about nothing until their ice cream comes, school and work and the latest _Masked Singer_ reveal (Dr. Drew of all people). It’s not until the picturesque banana split sits between them at the table that April watches her dad take a deep breath in, ready to broach whatever topic he brought her here for. 

“So, hun, I know you’re not stupid.”

“I should hope so,” April jokes, “you have a decade of report cards telling you that.”

“That’s my girl.” Her dad laughs before his serious face comes back. “But, my point is, I’m sure you’ve heard your mother and I get a little vocal, and I just wanted to apologize for that. Marriage isn’t easy, you know, it’s something you have to work hard for, to have faith in. I’m sure you’ll know that when you find some boy who’s worthy of you.”

“Sure,” April manages, forcing a smile.

“But my point is, sometimes you fight. And it’s not fun. But I want you to know that we are a-okay now. All is well in Casa Stevens.”

April nods, business like. “Good to hear.” And then, out of an odd combination of curiosity and masochism, “so, what did you fight about?”

Her dad considers for a moment before clearly making a decision. “Do you remember your momma’s cousin Robert? I think he was still at the reunions when you were little. He doesn’t come to them anymore, given that he’s… well, he’s chosen to live his life with another man.”

April knew it was coming, but she can’t help but let out a small gasp at how clearly her father states it. John misinterprets her though, reaching across the table to grab her hand. She wants to flinch away, but quells the urge. 

“I know it’s hard, to know that someone who has chosen that path is within our own family, but we do what we can for them, pray for them, but at the end of the day it’s out of our hands.”

April nods, her mouth drying up. She takes a bite of ice cream to offset it, but the cold burns her teeth and all the way down her throat. She wants to leave, wants to run away from here, away from her Dad’s smiles and words that he presents as facts and the vinyl of the booth sticking to her skin. 

“Anyway, that’s why your mother and I had a little spat. She’s always been more forgiving of certain things than I have, but we have to draw the line somewhere, understand?”

April still wants to get out of there, wants to run all the way back home, grab her books and clothes and show up at the doorstep at a house she does not know. But April has never been the type for daydreams.

“Yes, sir,” she says, shoulders straightening automatically. 

“Atta girl.” He grins, plucking the cherry from the split. “Oh, I been meaning to tell you, I bought us tickets for _Rise of Skywalker_ next month. Opening night, you and me.”

April relaxes a little. This, she can do.

“Can’t wait.”

When they get home, she hugs her dad for a long time, breathing in his cologne. He kisses her goodnight on the forehead before sliding in next to Melanie on the couch, putting his arm around her shoulders. April watches as she hesitates for a fraction of a second before leaning into him and letting out a barely perceptible sigh. 

So that’s that. 

April sits at her computer for a long time that night, after all the lights and TV have been off for hours. 

_Dear TS,_

She watches the cursor blink, hoping it can give her something to go off of here. Sighing, she clicks into a new tab, opening Facebook, logging in on her mom’s account easily. 

Her fingers are sure, but maybe a little sweaty as she types the name “Robert” in the search bar, scrolling through her mother’s friends until the right name comes up. April sucks in a little breath at the picture; Robert’s arm slung around a tall handsome man, who holds Robert back as they both grin at the camera. 

His profile is more of that, and it hurts, their ease, whether it be on a sunset walk in Charleston or at Shania Twain concert surrounded by other 30-somethings, it’s always the two of them. Facebook tells April that Robert’s boyfriend's name is Enrique and the two of them have been together five years as of last summer.

Also in the last five years though, between all the couple pics, the vacations, the birthdays, the Christmases, they are only joined by other friends, and a few older women who are apparently Enrique’s family. No one else. 

April recognizes the physical similarities between herself and her mom and Robert, the dirty blonde hair, easily freckled and sunburnt complexion. There is no one else with that look anywhere else in the photos, and it doesn’t take someone with April’s IQ to know why. 

It’s baffling almost, to see concrete proof of a choice made. Not the same thing her father masqueraded as choice, but a real one. Robert choosing this one man and these friends and his nights out in Charleston over a bunch of people who look like April and won’t accept him. 

It’s not that she needed more evidence that two parts of her could not coexist side by side, but seeing it in technicolor on a computer screen makes April forget how to breathe for a second. But also, somehow, it makes things just a bit easier. 

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: Bad Day

_Dear TS,_

_Your offer is so kind, I truly appreciate it. I don’t believe I’ll be needing to take you up on it though. Looking back on my last email, I may have been a tad over the top. My father always says I have a flair for the dramatic, and he may be correct on that one. Besides, I’m not even in the Atlanta area._

_I love my family, I really do. I feel very lucky to have them, even if it can be tense sometimes. At the end of the day, this is a life that I am happy in. Sometimes, in my head, I get lost in thought and forget that I have something special with my parents. They really love me, I can tell, and I’m ungrateful for not seeing and remembering that._

_Thanks again for your offer, I’m really lucky to have a friend like you._

_A_

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: Bad Day

_Hey, I think it’s awesome that you have these great vibes with your family, but I don’t know if it’s fair to yourself to say you were being dramatic or ungrateful. I’m trying to say this without being nosy or rude or anything, but it’s totally not cool the stuff your dad says about gay people? And it’s way more okay to let that affect you!! Your feelings are completely valid, and you don’t have to act like everything’s okay when there are parts that aren’t. Just my two cents._

_Anyway, offer still stands!_

_Love,_

_TS_

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com **  
To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: Bad Day

_Thanks again._

_Anyway, is your school also making you read The Grapes of Wrath? _I_ swear to God that is the most tedious piece of garbage I’ve ever read. It makes the Old Testament look like Dr. freaking Seuss. I understand that the Great Depression was well, depressing, but I feel that there are more interesting people to follow. Where’s the Dorothea Lange book when you need it? _

_A_

It’s curt, April knows, almost even unkind. But boundaries need to be drawn somewhere. And, at the end of the day, it’s survival. 

**vii. this never would have happened if y’all just snapchatted like normal people**

Sterling tries not to let her bother her. 

It’s not that anything changes that much over the course of sophomore year. It’s just that they talk more about books than family things, the vulnerability that A had been showing silently disappearing into the background. Sterling misses it, more than she thought she would, and she’s not even sure why. She knows it’s selfish, that she was gaining some kind of joy and validation from being someone’s anchor in an unhappy situation, but it felt good to help. 

She still likes talking to A about movies and school and Blair, still without naming any names of course. She doesn’t know why, even after almost five years of this, the thought of her name showing up on one of these emails makes her freak out a little, but it does. It’s nice to have this one place where she’s not a real person, even if it’s less frequent and less frequent emails, with less and less depth. 

The summer before junior year, it’s nearly dead air. It agitates Sterling, gets under her skin, the silence itself and the fact that she still cares about someone who has clearly chosen to cut herself off. She channels the anxiety into other things; she finishes her summer reading in record time, perfects every shot she takes at shooting range, makes the firm decision mid-August that enough is enough, it’s time for her and Luke to have sex. 

Still, _still_ , she checks her email for anything. 

“Why don’t you just ask her what’s up?” Blair asks, the night before school starts back up, peering over Sterling’s shoulder. 

“Oh my gosh, stop reading my private stuff!”

“What? There’s nothing to read. I think your girl might have ghosted.”

“She wouldn’t ghost,” Sterling pouts, locking her phone, “she’s just going through stuff.”

Blair just shrugs. “All I’m saying, this is why I don’t send emails. This never would have happened if y’all just snapchatted like normal people.”

“It’s not like that,” Sterling protests, “it’s like, I don’t know, she’s my very own top secret confidant who won’t judge me for anything.”

“Hey, I’m your top secret confidant who won’t judge you for anything.”

“You told me my shirt was tacky literally two hours ago.”

“Your shirt _is_ tacky. I don’t see your point.”

Sterling groans. “Anyway, you’re my sister, it’s different.”

Something about the way she says that makes Blair tilt her head. 

“What?”

“Ohhhh,” Blair draws out, “she’s your exception.”

“Huh?”

“Like the girl you would actually be into if you were into girls.”

Sterling feels her face turning red, which is weird, absurd. 

“No! It’s not like that. Also she’s like, an actual lesbian, I’m not even - I’ve been with Luke forever - it’s not like I have a _crush_ on my _pen pal.”_

Blair laughs. “Trust, having a pen pal is way weirder than having a girl you’d maybe be into. Mine would probably be either Cardi B or AOC. Ooh that rhymes. Damn I really should be doing better in English.”

Sterling smiles at her sister, trying to shrug off the temporary weirdness under her skin at the idea of thinking of A like _that_ , trying to shrug off how she’s still a little mad that A has decided that Sterling is not worth talking to all of a sudden. 

Sterling visibly jumps when her phone vibrates, a surge of hope jumping in her veins. Blair smirks at her. It’s just a text from Luke though, checking if they’re still on for tonight. 

“We still on for tonight?” she asks Blair. 

“Hell yeah, dude, tonight is the night I perfect the handjob.”

“Gross,” Sterling says, but the more she thinks about it, maybe tonight _is_ the night, for something big to finally happen.


	3. Chapter 3

**viii. distract me part two**

It’s not that anger is a new emotion for April. She likes the way it lives on the edges of her fingertips, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. She likes the way it can make the face of a boy at school go from condescending to scared in two seconds flat. She finds anger is something that can be harnessed, controlled. 

Then the first week of junior year happens. 

There are things it makes sense to be mad about; not getting Fellowship leader; the way Chase Colton asks the stupidest questions in class; the fact that arts funding got cut again, so there’s not even a spring musical to look forward to. 

Then there are things that it makes less sense to be mad about. Mainly, this newfound knowledge that Sterling Wesley had sex. _Sterling Wesley_ had sex. Sterling Wesley had _sex. Sterling Wesley had sex._

April’s not stupid. It doesn’t take a psychology degree to unpack why it makes her furious that someone who she _hates_ but once had an annoying lingering _something_ for is able to participate in hormonal carnal rituals that are essentially off limits to April herself. She hates that it affects her though, hates the way she wants to crawl out of her skin when she passes Luke in the hallway, hates that she’s too good at masking the whirlwind of jealousy and anger with a veneer of judgment. Most of all, she hates the part of her that is almost impressed with Sterling. She’s never struck April as someone who would go beyond the rigid boundaries that they all have placed on them. But somehow she did. And she _glows_ with it. April hates that she notices it, hates that glowing non-virgin yet still perfect Sterling Wesley takes up space in her brain. 

She hates that she can’t tell anyone about it. Some days she looks next to her to Ezekiel and thinks maybe, _maybe,_ if she was just a bit braver. But she knows it’s not even a matter of bravery; it’s a matter of self-preservation. 

There is probably one person she could tell. One person who could listen. She’d been good at not indulging for the past year or so, but now she sits alone in her room, filled with an anger that she feels might burst out of her if she doesn’t expel it into something. 

Her dad’s been away more often than usual this week, and she can hear James Corden’s annoying accent blasting on the TV downstairs, so she knows her mom is occupied for the foreseeable future. She takes out her laptop, one eye still trained on the door. 

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Sorry 

_Dear TS,_

_I know it’s been a while. I could give some excuse about summer activities or people growing naturally apart, but the honest truth is that it was frightening to have a part of myself so exposed to a stranger on the internet, even if it is someone who doesn’t know any personal details._

_But perhaps, maybe it is better to be exposed and scared rather than to keep everything inside, unsure of when the dam will break. All that to say, I’m sorry for my distance. I am also sorry that I use you as an outlet for things I can’t tell people in my real life. You’re worth more than that._

_That being said, I am writing to use you as an outlet for something I can’t tell people in real life. Go figure._

_There’s this girl I used to be friends with. In retrospect, I definitely had a crush on her when I was ten, but that’s neither here nor there. Especially when she has spent the last five years either consciously or unconsciously making my life gradually worse. Barely perceptible, but just like each pebble thrown into a lake, the water rises, to the point of me wanting to throttle her daily, yet being emotionally affected by her actions like I am still ten and gay and clueless._

_I am just so tired of this. I’m tired of having to put on a mask everyday._

_This may feel out of the blue, but would you ever want to meet in person? I lied last year, for stupid reasons, when I said I’m not in Atlanta. I think I could use someone to -_

“April!”

April’s heart speeds up as she hears her mom's steps on the stairs. She quickly closes out her tabs and shuts her laptop before her mom slams the door open without knocking. Which is odd. Her mom always knocks. Instead she stands in front of April, panic clearly written on her face. 

“It’s your father,” she says, voice cracking. 

And, well, if April thought she was angry before, it’s absolutely nothing compared to what comes next. 

She screams.

April sits alone in the front seat of her mom's car parked outside the police station and she screams. She grips on the door handle until her hand is white and sweaty. It’s silent and dark in the car and her thoughts are a jumble of betrayal and shock and the persistent _this man hurt people._ This man who April spent every day of her childhood looking up to went out of his way to physically hurt people. 

So she screams alone in the parking lot because it’s better than crying. 

She pulls out her phone, needing something, anything, to take her mind off the gnawing disgust and hurt growing in her gut. She sees the draft sitting in her email and quickly deletes it, scoffing at the innocence of herself half an hour ago. 

Instead she sends something simple, the same plea as years ago. 

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** please

_Distract me_

She wishes she was surprised when it goes unanswered for days. It makes sense, with how her luck has gone. In an act that she’s aware is petty, she logs out of that email on all devices. Sets it aside. Lets herself live in the truth, that for some things in her life, she really has no one. 

**ix. xoxoxo st**

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: please

_Hi!!_

_Omg I’m so sorry it’s been a minute! I’ve been like, crazy busy. It’s for sure been the most insane week of my life. Do you ever find something that you’re good at, and it’s like, oh yeah, this thing makes sense, and there’s a part of you that’s a little bolder than before? I am sorry for not responding earlier and I hope everything’s okay with you!! But wow, it’s also great to hear from you._

_So here I am, hopefully distracting you with all the silly goings on of my life. I don’t know if you remember this girl I’ve talked about before, but I have a very strong memory of you calling her a bitch in the seventh grade, and it was so huge at the time. Anyway, she’s actively trying to ruin my life. And maybe succeeding? I’ll keep you posted. The thing is, I know she has some intense stuff going on and part of me wishes I could help her out, even when she’s terrible to me. I don’t know, I feel a building sense of dread, but still feel bad for her? I don’t know, it’s complicated, but hey, if you want to call her a bitch again, I would not be mad._

_Anyway, here's a quiz where you plan your ideal first date and it tells you which member of One Direction you are. I got Niall, which we all know isn’t my first choice, but I do see it. Hope it can serve as something to take your mind off things!_

_Love,_

_TS_

_PS: I’ve really missed you <3 _

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** hi!!!

_Hi A!!!!!_

_I know you weren’t talking to me for a while now and I guess you’re back to that but I just wanted to let you know that you are GREAT. I hope you start talking to me again and i hope you’re okay. I really hope you’re okay. I think about your well being a LOT is that weird???? Like right now im in the bathroom at an actual PARTY where im maybe a little drunk????? And im just thinking about how I’m trying really hard to make friends rn but in all honestly you’re maybe my best friend. Besides my sister DUHH but yeah its really freaking cool that we can be so close for years! YEARS, A!! even if we don’t know each other. But we DO know each other you know???_

_But then i get worried sometimes because like what if you are mad cause i didn’t distract u but i promise i was doing important stuff. Keeping the streets SAFE!!!! Oh man this screen is looking a lil fuzzy but ilove u and miss you xoxoxo ST_

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** sorry 

_Okay ouch, I made some not great choices last night, so I’m sorry about whatever that was I sent you. Are you okay? I don’t want to stop talking to you, you know. I think five years of friendship is too much to throw down the drain._

_It feels like a lot in my life is changing right now, some of it in a good way, some of it in a less good way. I don’t know, it’s been a weird week. But anyway, my point is, I hope that you not responding isn’t one of these changes, and is only temporary. I miss you!_

_Love,_

_TS_

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** hello?

_Hey A -_

_I don’t know if you’re done talking to me now for real, but I really hope not! Maybe you’re like, at some retreat with no internet or lost my email or something. I know that’s not how emails work, but the only other options I can think of are either that you hate me or things went South with your family and I hope to God it’s not either of those._

_I’m going to keep writing to you though. If that’s annoying, let me know and I’ll stop, but it’s felt really good to do this for the last five years and I don't want that to end._

_Even though, there are other things that have been a constant in my life for five years that maybe should be anymore? I don’t know, we’re still so young and I feel like there are parts of me that I haven’t even gotten to explore yet. This might not make sense, but you may be my own personal void at this point. I remember a couple years ago you asked me if it was one guy I was dating over the past year or a revolving door of men. At the time, I was so happy to report it was just the one. But what if I want that revolving door? Or none? Or to not even think about men and romance and these weird societal values that high school puts on us and just live and do my own thing?_

_Oops, I was expecting all of that to come out of me. But, honestly, it feels kind of great that it's out there now. Anyway, would love to hear from you, even just to say you’re alive. Or to tell me I’m being in my head too much. And to shut the heck up._

_Love,_

_TS_

_PS: Also, okay, so sorry if this is insensitive but I was in a strip club the other night (I sound way cooler than I am, I promise) and like, you’re really onto something. Women are really just so beautiful, huh?_

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** question

_Hi, okay, I know you’re still totally ghosting me for what is probably a super valid reason, but I have a question that maybe you’re uniquely qualified to help me with. So, to just dive right in, how did you know you were gay? That’s probably a dumb question to ask a gay person, and I’m pretty sure I still like guys too but I just - there’s this girl._

_Oh my god, A, this GIRL. I’ve known her forever, but the other day something just clicked and I can’t stop thinking about her in a very non-platonic way. I think she is more exciting and invigorating and just like, hotter than anyone I’ve met. I can’t even look at her without thinking… things that you probably don’t want to hear anything about. But I just - I don’t know what to do._

_Have you ever encountered this? I’m sure the girls have been falling at your feet, how could they not!? How did you go about… doing anything with them? How do you tell if a girl is gay or bi or whatever? I just - I’ve never really WANTED_ _anyone like this and it’s new and weird and nothing I’ve ever experienced before but also just so EXHILARATING._

_I’m sorry if this is super rambly and way TMI and probably not the best way to win you back but here I am. I know it’s a lot, but it’s a lot in a good way. A really good way. Even though I might literally pass out when I see her. But worth it. Definitely worth it._

_Hey, maybe this total chaos of an email will pull you out of retirement! Probably not, but a girl can hope._

_Love,_

_TS_

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** me again

_Hi it’s me again!!_

_I know you’re still not responding to me or whatever but I need to tell someone about this girl. I can’t tell anyone irl, because you know, society and stuff, but I think I might explode if I keep it to myself. Did it feel like this for you the first time you kissed a girl? Like you want to always be around her and every second you’re not with her you’re thinking about her. It’s new, it’s so new, but I can’t stop thinking about all the ways this could go, all the days and nights I want to spend with her. She’s someone I think I could talk to every minute of every day and never be bored. And I don’t know, we haven’t really talked about what we are specifically, but I’m so fucking excited for whatever that is._

_I’m sure I sound so lame, but you know what? I’m leaning into it. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before and it feels so GOOD. I don’t think my gut would lead me wrong._

_Tell me if you want me to stop. I know it’s just been streams of consciousness. But I can’t talk to anyone else about this. And besides, after everything, I really just want to talk to YOU about it._

_Love, as always,_

_TS_

**x. shitty and heartbroken and gay**

April isn’t sure why she does it. Maybe because her back hurts from the hardwood floor. Maybe it’s the itch coming back again, the need to talk to someone who can get it, even though she probably just turned away the only person who actually _does_ get it. Maybe it’s just the fact that’s even though she is excellent at holding grudges, this one feels silly in retrospect, not when the giant spectre of her father looms over her, not when mere hours ago she watched Sterling’s face crumple from heartbreak and she knew she was the cause of it. 

Maybe it’s because, even though she’s literally surrounded by other bodies, she’s just so fucking lonely. 

Either way, a little after two a.m., she slowly picks herself off the floor, steps over her sleeping peers and makes her way into the hallway. She wanders to the auditorium, struck by the memory of when their middle school had used this space for _Annie_ , remembers her boiling rage, stuck on the sidelines watching Sterling shine, as she had to settle for a supporting role. 

She thinks of Sterling’s face again, her big blue eyes screwed up with hurt. April tries to blink it away. She walks up the steps to the stage and swings her legs off the edge of it. Sterling’s face is still there though, eyes open or closed.

Then pulls out her phone. Enough is enough. If she’s going to feel shitty and heartbroken and gay, she might as well have someone to talk to about it. 

It's not as if there weren't moments over the last couple months where she’d thought about writing TS, but hadn’t had the courage to go back in, to let that part of herself be exposed. 

_Hey, remember when you heavily implied that my father is a piece of fucking garbage, congrats! You were right._

_Hi, I’m a social fucking pariah right now, how have you been?_

_Hi TS, I think I’m falling for someone. Actually. For real. Not one of those crushes that remain uncomplicatedly unrequited. There are a million reasons why it’s a bad idea, but I need someone to tell me it’s a good idea._

She never did it, of course, too intent on grudges, too afraid to put anything real in writing, but now her phone stares at her, so bright in the dark auditorium, reminding her that she really doesn’t have anything left to lose. 

It feels like diving into an April from lifetimes ago, logging into that email. She lets out a watery laugh when she sees just how many unread emails there are. She had asked for a distraction, after all, and if she thought she needed it then, well, it’s nothing compared to now. 

Reading the first email is like slipping into an old sweatshirt that she’s had forever, simple comfort and warmth at the way this person writes. It’s a moment of respite in what is maybe the worst night of her life. She smiles at the now familiar offering of a lame quiz, little excerpts of TS’s life over the past weeks, her persistent _care_ that shines through, even when April was too stubborn to open her emails. She grins at TS’s clearly drunk email, a little warmth growing in her at the fact that she was someone who was at the forefront of this girl’s mind when she was inebriated. 

As she proceeds further, though, the warmth is joined by a pang that she tries to quell.

Everything reminds her of Sterling. Everything. 

When TS breaks up with her longtime boyfriend - Sterling. Her abrupt and somehow charming sexual awakening with someone she’s known forever - Sterling. More so than just the coincidental timing, it’s the thoughtfulness, the constant kindness, that makes April’s chest hurt with _Sterling, Sterling, Sterling_. 

It’s pathetic. She’s pathetic. She’s like those girls that she has always made fun of, losing their identity because of a dumb crush, doodling boys’ names in their notebooks, something April never wanted to become. It’s not fair to TS, who has been a more consistent presence in her adolescent life than Sterling ever was, to project her heartbreak onto this unknowing person.

She wipes her eyes (when did she start crying _again_?) and looks back to the emails, consciously trying to eject Sterling from her thoughts. Of course, she’s now gotten to the part where TS has her perfect little love affair with a girl in her class, probably without any dark cloud hanging over it, without an ending like the one April foresaw but prayed and prayed wouldn’t come, before inevitably arriving. 

And it hurts, April wishes it didn’t hurt, wishes she wasn’t jealous of someone she’s never met, that she could just be uncomplicatedly happy for another person for once in her life. But tonight of all nights, it stings to read about TS having everything that April couldn’t. It makes her want to ignore her all over again, but then the final line takes her breath away. 

_I really just want to talk to YOU about it._

And God, if April doesn’t understand that. So, for once, she puts her pride aside, pulling up a new email. There is no world in which she could handle breaking off another years-long relationship tonight. 

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** forgive me

_Hi TS,_

_I know it's been too long. I unfortunately can’t say that I was at retreat with no internet nor did I lose your emails. Instead, much like you, I was quite busy. But not the fun self-fulfilling kind of busy that you were. This was a worse kind. A kind that made me hold an irrational grudge against you for not responding immediately, even though I did the same for months. Or I resented you for questioning the motives of my father last year. Maybe I hated that you were right._

_Either way, I realize that that was beyond stupid of me and I sincerely apologize. I’m at a point right now where I don’t feel like I can make a decision that won’t hurt someone in my life. All I do is hurt people, and I don’t want to hurt you, TS. Not after everything._

_If you don’t forgive me, I’ll understand. But God, I hope you do._

_Love,_

_A_

She realizes she’s crying again as she presses send. Of course she is. She’s not foolish enough to attribute all of it to writing an email, not when earlier this evening she had to crush a hope that was so new and bright and watch it crumble before her eyes. But still, some of the tears feel cathartic. At least this is one thing she might not ruin. 

**xi. buckle the fuck up**

Sterling gets a new phone on Sunday. It's surreal, standing in the Apple store with Blair and her dad (which, debatable), like their whole world hasn’t shifted monumentally in the last 48 hours.

“Yeah, uh, we lost the last one. And broke it, so time to start fresh!” Anderson says too cheerfully to the employee.

Sterling feels Blair’s hand in hers and breathes. They haven’t stopped physically touching since Friday night, holding each other like lifelines. 

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the _fuck?_ ” Blair had screamed when they finally got home after the police station. Sterling had longed for Blair’s righteous anger, still longs for it, wonders if the reason they are so different isn’t some cute Mary Kate and Ashley vibe, but just the simple truth that they just don’t share the same genetic code. 

Blair hadn’t let go of her though, had fallen asleep with her arms protectively around Sterling’s shoulders, while Sterling had blinked up at the ceiling. She didn’t even have her phone to distract her, a small thing, compared to what she always knew about her family being a lie, compared to the taste of the gag still in her mouth no matter how many times she brushed her teeth.

But the phone, at least the phone, was something that her parents (again, debatable) could fix. So they stand at the Apple store, as if they are are any other family in the mall on a Sunday afternoon. Sterling just looks down at her nails that Blair had painted too bright blue the night before, hand trembling a little, but trying so hard to do something that was normal, just the two of them.

“It’s the newest model, hun,” Anderson says, all injected enthusiasm, as he hands Sterling the box. 

“Cool,” she manages. 

“Buying affection, real classy, Dad,” Blair says. 

“That’s not- I’m not- she just needs a new phone, right Sterl?”

Sterling nods, taking the new iPhone out of the box, looking at the reflection of Anderson and Blair in the shiny black screen. They look so similar, always have, with their dark hair and eyes, their matching little wrinkles in their foreheads when they frown. They used to always joke that Blair got Daddy’s genes and Sterling got Momma’s and now it’s not a joke at all, it’s just this reality that Sterling violently fell into and isn’t sure how she can ever get herself upright. 

“And once it starts up, you can just enter your password and sync all your accounts,” the Apple employee says, easing the tense silence that had fallen. 

Sterling nods again, typing in her password and watching the phone do its thing, all of her apps and Instagram followers and perfectly curated TikTok algorithm (mostly dogs and conspiracy theories about One Direction) popping back up. 

She clicks on the email app, absently logging into her Willingham email, her regular email and then, casting a quick glance up at Anderson, who is going over payment, logging into her old email. She’s not expecting anything, but she lets out a gasp when she sees the bolded **(1)** in her inbox. 

“You okay?” 

Blair’s immediately at her side, hand on her back, looking around the store as if someone in here could have caused Sterling trouble. 

“Yeah,” Sterling says quickly, trying to ignore the simultaneous warmth and ache at Blair’s protectiveness, “it’s just, um, A wrote me back.”

Blair tilts her head a little, before grinning fully for the first time in days. “So the summer camp girlfriend returns.”

“That’s not-”

“Wow, the dots are really connecting here. I know that we have had way too much terrible shit going on so no one has had time to process but, I totally should have called the gay-ish thing about you when you were freaking out over this girl’s emails.”

Sterling stares at Blair’s excited little rambling. Partly because she’s doing a little absent processing that, okay, maybe some of the anticipation about receiving an email from some girl wasn’t entirely heterosexual. But mostly because she knows it's only been two days, but it feels huge to see Blair go off about something that is not in any way related to family trauma and lies and kidnapping. She clutches her new phone in her hand, holding it like a lifeline, like something to maybe save her from these past 48 hours. 

“Sterl, are you crying?”

Sterling wipes her eye with the hand not holding her phone.

“I know we’re in public, but I feel like I get a free pass at crying, you know, maybe forever.”

Blair’s hand comes around Sterling’s shoulders.

“Definitely. Cry anywhere. Everywhere.”

“It just feels good to talk about something that’s not…”

“I know.”

Sterling sniffs into Blair’s neck. 

“So,” Blair says, “do you wanna take your new phone, go grab some chicken nuggets and unpack your boner for your penpal?”

“Ew, Blair!”

“That’s not a no,” Blair says, leading them out of the store, and Sterling lets herself take a breath for the first time in two days. 

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: forgive me

_God, I’m so glad you responded. You have no idea how much I needed this. Things are weird - bad weird - over here. I swear I’m not being dramatic when I say that essentially my whole life has been a lie??? I don’t know how to process anything, I feel like all I’m doing is reacting to small things around me and I can barely think about the one big thing that happened. Does that make sense? I’ve never felt this way before, this isolated._

_Maybe it's a sign that you wrote me back right now. And please, don’t think that you hurt me. I don’t know what happened with you for these past couple months, but I don’t think you’re the type to hurt others, and trust me, I know what being hurt feels like._

_I think I need someone to talk to who isn’t my family or anyone I know. Even my sister, who is everything to me, I just - it’s complicated. So thank you, thank you, thank you._

_Love,_

_TS_

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: forgive me

_Jesus, are you okay? I’ve had a pretty awful weekend myself, but even that seems it might pale in comparison to whatever happened to you. The whole life being a lie and all that. I would ask if you’re exaggerating, but I’ve always been the dramatic one in this relationship. I know I’m just an anonymous person through a screen, but let me know if there's anything at all I can do._

_You said you have no one to talk to who isn’t your family, but, sorry if this is prying, what happened with that girl you were talking about last week? Is she someone you can talk to? Either way, I promise I’m always here._

_Love,_

_A_

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** re: forgive me

_Was that just last week? Holy shit. Yeah, she’s not someone I can really confide in at the moment, it definitely did not end well. And that’s not even the worst of it._

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** re: forgive me

_I’m so sorry to hear that. Trust me, I can relate. So, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s the worst of it?_

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** re: forgive me

_It’s a long crazy, pretty traumatic story. I don’t know if I want to put all that on you?_

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** re: forgive me

_What are friends for? Happy to be your sounding board. It’s the least I can do, after everything._

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** re: forgive me

_Okay, buckle the fuck up._

“Is there anyone else you feel like you can talk to about any of this?”

Sterling looks up into the eyes of the woman she just met. She thinks she likes her so far. She looks kind of like her Sunday school teacher when she was a kid, with kind dark eyes, perpetually cheerful in her round cheeks, but not in a fake or annoying way. 

“Yeah,” Sterling responds finally, “yes, um, it’s kind of a weird story.”

“Sterling,” her new therapist says, with a hint of a smile, “I don’t think it can beat the reason you’re here.”

“Okay, fair.”

“So, who is this person?”

Sterling smiles. “I have absolutely no idea.”


	4. Chapter 4

**xii. n-o-1-d-a-d**

April has a routine now. She’s always been good at that, mapping out the hours of her days. There is comfort in schedules. She wakes up, she brushes her teeth until they shine, she puts on her uniform, she sits in class, staring straight ahead, taking meticulous notes. She listens to Hannah B. talk on and on about some irrelevant, yet comforting story at lunch time. She goes to her extracurriculars of the day, pays attention, leads if she needs to lead. She does not pass go, she does not collect $200 dollars, (she does not know when she started thinking in Monopoly metaphors; that game heavily oversimplifies the American economy), and she does not look at Sterling Wesley in any capacity.

That last part is almost too easy. Part of April longs for Sterling to confront her, to demand that they try again, but it’s clear that the avoidance is more than mutual. Which is better, she tells herself. It’s better for everyone. 

There’s a hitch in this part of the routine one horrible Thursday where she accidentally walks in early to Bible class and its only Sterling and Luke and there and she has his hand on his arm and is saying something that sounds a lot like _I’m sorry_ and he’s just nodding and maybe crying and April has to _leave._

She catches her breath on the wall outside the classroom, pretty sure neither of them saw her. She only gets a few breaths in before Luke comes out after her, wiping his eyes. He startles a little when he sees her, and tries to smile even though he’s clearly a little wrecked. April wishes she couldn’t relate.

“Oh hey,” he says, with a weak wave, “sorry, I’m, uh, I don’t know -”

He leans on the wall next to her, letting out a long breath. April eyes him. He looks a mess, and April feels a twinge of sympathy combined with a full force of jealousy that this boy gets to express is heartbreak externally while she’s forced to keep hers neatly beneath the service. 

He sniffles a little, and the sympathy weighs out. She does, despite everything, like the guy. And empathy is almost too easy in this situation. She awkwardly pats him on the arm. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. It’s - it’s fine. I thought it would be easier to move on, you know,” he says with no prompting, and April wishes she was anywhere else but here in this conversation. 

“I know,” she says, because what else can she say?

Luke wipes his eyes and straightens, letting out a little laugh.

“Whew, I’m sorry. I’ll be better once I whip up a song about this.”

“It’s good to have an outlet,” April says. She wishes she had something so simple, that catharsis of a simple boy and his guitar. 

In a way though, she has her own outlet.

The next part of her routine is her favorite. After staying later than she needs to at school, she gets in her car, parks somewhere that is far enough from Willingham and far enough from home so that she can feel safe, opens up her phone, and feels herself genuinely smile for the first time all day. 

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** good things

_So my therapist has put me onto this new thing where, even when everything is terrible and feels too overwhelming, there is always something good to be found. She recommended that I write down one good thing that happened each day, no matter how small. I know you said things aren’t great with you either (always here if you need to talk!), so maybe this is something we could do together._

_It might be a cop out for my first one, but my good thing today was actually therapy. It’s just so freeing to not have anything stopping me from telling the whole truth. Her and you are the only people I’ve told about all the shit happening with my family. The idea of talking to anyone at school about it just feels so foreign and unfathomable to me right now. So I’m happy I have her. And you._

_What was your good thing?_

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: good things

_I love this idea. I’ve never been one to initiate positive thinking, so thank you for gently forcing me to do so._

_It sounds like therapy is going well for you, and I’m so glad. I will say, I got a laugh out of imagining the look on my dad’s face if I told him I wanted to do therapy. Relatedly, I think my good thing is that I’ve successfully organized an after school schedule so that I can avoid my family until at least sundown. Isn’t that pathetic? I’m trying to be positive here, but isn’t that just fucking pathetic?_

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: good things

_It’s not pathetic, it’s self preservation. My therapist is big on that. Apparently I worry about others more that I should during this traumatic period in my life and need to focus on what works for me. So I guess it's eating cheez itz and watching old reality shows for me. And talking to you. Duh. Also, as always, fuck your dad._

April smiles. She relishes the opportunity to bad mouth her father in their emails, it feels like the only safe place to do so. Even if she still doesn't spill the most persistent detail, the fact that he is a literal criminal, that sometimes she can’t sleep because she knows he’s only two rooms over. To TS, she only cites general bad parenting with a dose of homophobia. It’s irrational really, this nagging fear that somehow TS would be aware of the chatter that still surrounds her family, after everything going on in her own family, but still, something holds April back. 

She pockets her phone, and gets to the final part of her daily routine, the part she omitted from her emails, what comes after sunset: stalking her father. 

Well, stalking might be too strong of a word. Following. Watching. Observing. 

Often, it involves sitting at home, smiling at Tucker Carlson’s pasty face, eyes flicking to her Dad. Wondering. 

Other times it’s sitting in her car observing the Chik-Fil-A drive-thru as he comes away with six sandwiches. Which, she’s sure prison food is bad, but even that’s excessive. 

Tonight it's parking in the shadows of a dive bar she knows her dad frequents when he wants to "spend some time with the fellas." She can see cigarette butts on the ground and can smell the stale alcohol even though her windows are rolled up.

It’s not fun, per se, it's never fun, but it’s something. It’s both a distraction and a purpose. He is not going to hurt anyone else on her watch. She can’t control much, can't really control anything in her life at the moment, but she can control this. 

April watches as the back door to the bar slams open and John comes out, arm drunkenly slung around some man she vaguely remembers from church, one of the men who always seems drawn to her father’s orbit. 

April’s heart slams in her chest as she lowers herself into her seat. She's parked far enough away that she doubts her clearly inebriated father could recognize her car, but close enough that if she cracks her window, she can hear his conversation. Still, it's a bit too close for comfort.

“Teen fucking girls, Mitch,” John is saying, fumbling for his car keys.

“You’re kidding me.”

“Stone cold serious. These, I kid you not, twin girls who used to be friends with my daughter for Christ’s sake, knock me the hell out, the next thing I know I’m being taken to a jail cell.”

April’s heart stops for a second. She forgets how to breathe. There is definitely only one set of _twins_ she used to be friends with. Which means - which means -

April sinks lower in her seat as she watches the two men laugh together for a little longer, until her dad gets in his car. She feels tears fill her eyes, and swipes them away. She can’t waste time crying right now, not when her father is out here being a danger to himself and others. Mainly others. 

Her hand shakes when she dials the phone, tears still falling, the memory coming unprompted to her as it has done in the last few weeks of Sterling kissing her, but now it’s tainted. 

“Why can’t people just tell the truth **,** ” she’d said, and Sterling had thought to _kiss_ her of all things, instead of actually telling her that she was intimately involved in the thing causing April the most grief.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency,” the operator sounds. 

April wipes her eyes. She doesn’t have time for this. 

“Yes, hello, I would like to report someone driving under the influence. Black Chevrolet, license plate N-O-1-D-A-D.”

**xiii. throw hands**

Sterling has made it three whole weeks with the minimal interactions with anyone who’s not Blair at school. She goes in, body on autopilot, sitting in class until the bell rings, then gets in the car and goes home. Blair holds her hand in the hallways, crawls into her bed at night, glares at anyone who so much as looks at her. 

“Blair, Coach Boone said that if you miss another morning practice you’re off the team,” Anderson says at the always tense dinner table. 

“Well, then I’m off the team,” Blair says with a shrug. 

“Blair!” both Sterling and Debbie say. Sterling ignores the coincidence and turns her focus to Blair.

“Don’t stop practicing just because you don’t want to leave me by myself.”

Blair rolls her eyes overdramatically, but no one at the table is convinced. 

“It’s not because of you, Sterl, organized sports are totally just another way of men at the top controlling our bodies, you know?”

Sterling laughs a little. “Couch Boone is a woman.” Then softer, “Play. I don’t want you to give up anything else for me.”

“Please. I'd give up my actual life force for you.”

In the past when Blair would say something like that, it was just par for the course, but now it feels like a declaration of something stronger. Sterling tries not to start crying. Not at the dinner table, not in front of everyone. 

“Just go to practice,” she says softly.

So the next morning, she leans on the side of the Volt in the parking lot while Blair goes to hit other girls with sticks. It’s still misty in the morning, the fog settling on the field where Sterling can vaguely see Blair and the rest of the team do their laps. Sterling holds her hoodie closer around her shoulders and pulls out her phone. 

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: good things

_I think there’s something beautiful about a fall morning. Sometimes I want to be a person who isn’t me, who drinks coffee without cream and sugar and walks a dog in a park on an autumn morning instead of going to school with people who don’t really know me. It’s a really pretty day though. So maybe my good thing today is just being able to sit in some form of peace._

In retrospect, she should have known better than to have an optimistic thought in the most hellish month of her life. Before she can even look up from her phone, she finds herself being pushed up against the car with all the force of any angry April Stevens. 

She still hasn’t talked to April since that night. She can’t - she doesn’t even have the capacity to delve into that world of hurt when she is so busy living in her own different world of hurt. Sometimes their eyes still meet in one of their classes or in the hall, and Sterling feels her whole body ache with it, with how much she wants to have her hands in April’s hair, how much she wants to tell her everything, how much she wants to lean her head on her shoulder. 

Now though, this is not the softer, sweeter April that Sterling couldn’t get enough of last month. This April is a whirlwind of anger, all directed toward her, hands pressing Sterling’s shoulders into the car.

And, well, at first, if she’s being honest, Sterling is just incredibly turned on, which is incredibly embarrassing, but it’s not her fault that this specific person throwing her against various surfaces still has number one billing in her sexual fantasies, despite everything. 

“What,” April snarls, “the _fuck_ is wrong with you?”

Sterling, God help her, in the second before her words register, can’t get over the way April’s mouth curls around the word _fuck_. But then the words do register.

“What do you mean?” Sterling asks shakily, but something is sinking in her gut, because she knows, she just knows, that this one thread - the only thread in her life that hasn't been broken yet - is about to break.

“You know exactly what I mean. You and Blair are the ones who took my dad in and you-” April’s voice had been hard and biting, but then it cracks just the tiniest bit on the word _you_ , which makes Sterling want to die a little, “-you knew this whole time and were just lying to me?”

“April, please,” Sterling starts, the ground falling out from under her, April’s hands on her shoulders pushing her against the car the only thing keeping her upright, “I wanted to tell you - I just - there was so much going on - and he’s a really bad guy- ”

“Yeah, no shit,” April says, “you think that _I_ don’t know that? But you still kept this from me. Even after - after everything, I thought I could at least trust you.”

“I-” Sterling doesn’t know what to say because April is right, of course she is, but also this is the second time this girl has broken her heart in what has got to be the worst month of her life and it’s really not fair. “I’m so sorry.”

April lets her go, clenches her hands as soon as they let go of Sterling, like she needs to get rid of the feel of her. 

“I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear from you ever again.”

And then she’s leaving and Sterling wishes so hard she could do anything but cry, all she’s done is cry, but that doesn’t stop her from leaning her forehead against the cool surface of the dashboard as tears silently fall from her eyes. She doesn’t move for several long minutes, wondering if she will ever have the energy to move again. She doesn't lift her head up until a loud buzz from her phone. 

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: good things

_I’m not going to lie to you TS. I'm finding it difficult to think of something positive. I don’t think I ever mentioned it, but during that regretful time when I wasn’t responding fully to you, I got involved with another girl at my school. I always told myself I would never be so young and naive to be a teenager with romantic feelings, that I was above it all, and it would only end badly. And guess what? It did. I just don’t understand how this person who I thought was different and special and understood me, could just turn around and… I don’t know TS, it’s hard to have any hope or be optimistic right now._

_I suppose, if anything, my good thing is knowing who she really is, so I won’t fall under that spell again._

Sterling leans up, wipes her eyes. She might not be able to control anything in her own life right now, might not be ever able to get rid of the feel of April literally pushing her away, but this, this is some small way she can help someone. 

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: good things

_Okay, who is this bitch, I’ll throw hands. I’m tired of people who think they can just play with your feelings like it's nothing, like you don’t care about them. It’s not fair. And it hurts. Anyway, fuck her. Tell her you have a friend who is really good at shooting a gun if you want. If you couldn’t tell, my romantic life has also been… bad. I feel like I can’t do anything right in any department these days. Like everywhere I step, I fuck up. Maybe I’ve secretly been a fuck-up for my whole life and now everything is as it should be._

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: good things

_Honestly, maybe I’ll let her know. Could be fun to have her looking over her shoulder for some gun toting stranger. I’m sorry to hear that you haven't been doing well that way either, but don’t go telling yourself you’re a fuck-up. That’s not healthy, and more than that, it’s simply incorrect. You’re good. You’re so so good, TS. Remember that, okay? Promise me you’ll remember that._

And Sterling does. She tries to remember it, when she moves away from Debbie’s touch unconsciously every time she tries to put an arm around Sterling’s shoulder or kiss her on the forehead. She tries to remember it when she flinches every time someone refers to her and Blair as twins and spots the look of hurt on Blair’s face when she sees Sterling’s reaction. 

She tries to remember that she’s a good person when April turns the phrase “cold shoulder” into its most literal meaning, shoulder slamming into Sterling’s side in the hallway, like a bully from a bad teen movie. 

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” April says, “I must have not have seen you there.”

“April, come on.”

“Did someone say something, Hannah B.?” April asks Hannah B airily, before walking off. 

It would almost work too, if Sterling didn’t intimately know the tone of April’s voice at this point, if she couldn’t spot the vulnerability that she knows April tries so hard to hide. 

Also if Hannah B. knew how to control her volume. 

“Why are we mad at her again?” Hannah B. asks, looking back at Sterling, which makes Sterling laugh a little to herself. 

Mostly though, she just feels guilt, knowing that between everything that went down between her and April, this one thing is her fault alone. 

“You gotta cut yourself some slack,” Blair says that afternoon, doodling on Sterling sneakers as they sit on the counter of Yogurtopia, having been rehired as cashiers out of what Sterling is 99% sure is pure sympathy. “Like, she’s still being a total bitch to you.”

“Yeah but isn’t it more of a total bitch move for me to not tell her that I was intimately involved in like, the most traumatic thing that happened to her this year?”

Blair wrinkles her nose. “Intimately?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Please get off my counter,” Bowser chimes in, “you’re breaking at least twenty health codes right now.”

“Bowwws,” Blair whines, “there aren't even customers. And I’m drawing cute little ducks on Sterl’s shoes.”

“And I’m trying to run a cute little business here, so...” He gestures for them to get down off the counter.

“You’re no fun ever since-”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m now another adult who cares about your safety. Now wipe off my counter, and then complain about me.”

Blair rolls her eyes but hops down from the counter and grabs a rag. Sterling just scooches over so her legs swing over the edge, snacking on a cup of what is just Oreo bits and tiny Reese's cups. 

“What do you think, Bowser?” she asks, “who is being a bitch in this situation?”

“I have no idea what situation you’re referring to and I really don’t need to-”

“So you remember when we brought in John Stevens, right? Well I got, uh, close with his-”

“You know he’s back, right?” Bowser interrupts. 

“Back where?”

“Jail.”

“John Stevens?”

“Yup.”

“ _John Stevens?”_

“Is she okay?” Bowser asks Blair.

“Are any of us _really_ okay, Bows?”

“Jesus. Anyway, yeah, someone has been consistently calling in minor crimes and misdemeanors for him for the past month or so, ever since he got out the first time. He keeps coming out though, classic rich white guy behavior. I give it a week this time.”

“Holy shit,” Sterling breathes, pieces coming together in her brain. 

“I know,” Blair says, “the system really _is_ stacked to only protect those in power.”

“No, not that it’s just… isn’t it weird that there are probably a zillion guys doing small crimes in the greater Atlanta area, but for some reason people keep calling in John Stevens? That’s weird, right Bowser?”

Bowser shrugs. “I mean, usually when these type of guys have so many things called in rapid succession, it’s a spouse or friend or someone who is afraid to confront him directly, but wants the bastard locked up.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Sterling says excitedly, hopping down a little too quickly, so that she knocks over her cup of toppings. Bowser lets out a long sigh. 

Blair tilts her head. “Mrs. Stevens? I don’t know, she gives off huge ‘stand by your man’ energy.”

Sterling throws an Oreo piece at her.

“Not Mrs. Stevens, dummy!”

“Don’t call me dumb, it’s rude!”

“And while we’re here, don’t throw toppings around my shop, that is also rude,” Bowser growls.

“Guys!” Sterling snaps, so abruptly that both Bowser and Blair turn to her, “it’s totally April. Think about it, who else would know where her dad is at all times? And I know for a fact she doesn’t want him in her house.”

Blair has her thinking face on. “Okay, valid theory. I mean, you’re definitely biased, but it does make sense given that April was so freaked out that her dad would find out she’s-”

Before Sterling can think about it, her world narrows to a focus of Blair, and specifically stopping Blair at this moment. The world fades out except her sister's face. 

_Blair! If you out April to Bowser, I swear to God-_

_Oh shit, my b. In my defense, Bowser doesn’t even know April! And he’s like, definitely chill with it._

_Yeah, but he knows who she is! And this is the one thing that no one can know, not even him._

_Sorry, sorry, I will protect the girl you like who is terrible to you._

_Thank you. Also rude. But thank you._

Blair smiles at her. Then Blair’s smile grows wider and wider until she’s madly grinning at Sterling, with hints of tears in her eyes. 

_What’s going on? You don’t have this many feelings about April._

Blair just keeps smiling, bouncing a little on her toes. 

_Sterl. We’re doing the thing._

_What thing?_

Then it hits Sterling in its enormity. She feels tears prick her own eyes, her own smile surpassing even Blair’s. 

_We’re doing the thing!_

_We’re doing the thing!_

_WE’RE DOING THE THING!_

In an instant, Blair is climbing over the counter, knocking over a jar of spoons until she’s hugging Sterling and they’re both jumping and holding each other and laughing and crying and it’s the best Sterling has felt in weeks. 

“What the fuck is happening?” Bowser asks. 

“We did the thing!” Blair shouts at him. 

“Thank you for clarifying,” he deadpans, “another thing you could do is clean up my goddamn shop.”

“I love you so much,” Sterling tearfully tells Blair. 

“I love _you_ so much,” Blair says in response. 

“Jesus Christ,” Bowser says, but Sterling looks over and he’s smiling too. 

**xiv. sounds like she has her own issues**

April tries to sound as casual as possible. She’s perched on the kitchen counter, fingers absently tapping on her coffee, pretending she has not been practicing this plea for weeks now. She takes a deep breath. 

“What if we just didn’t pay bail this time?”

Something clatters in the kitchen, as her mother drops the frying pan she'd been cleaning onto the floor. April tries not to roll her eyes; at least she knows who she gets her flair for the dramatic from. 

“April, how can you even suggest -”

And April’s been rehearsing, she’s been practicing, she’s been doing the stupid guided meditation that Hannah B. suggested, but something about the tone of her mother’s voice takes away all the progress she’s made. 

“How can _I_ even suggest that? Mom, he’s beaten people, he’s driven drunk, he even took out Mrs. DeWitt’s mailbox two weeks ago. The cute one with the flowers. You love that mailbox.”

“I love your _father_.”

The correction chills something in April, so much that she forces out, “do you? Because when it seemed like he was going to be gone forever, you did a pretty fine job at not loving him. I don’t know what you think having him back will do. Do you think we will ever be respected in the community again with him around? Do you think all his crimes are just erased because he comes home again and again?”

“April-”

Her mother’s voice is warning, but April doesn’t care. She stands up from the counter, walks around to where Melanie is still standing with the empty frying pan at her feet. April gets her stature from her mom, both of them barely topping five feet. At least, April thinks, if they finally have it out, she’ll be evenly matched in that department for once. 

April picks up the pan and places it on the counter. She takes her mom’s hands in her own. Melanie looks at her, like she’s trying to figure something out. April wills herself the courage to speak.

“Mom, I’m scared of him.”

Once, in preparation for debate, April watched a very long series of YouTube videos about how to read facial cues. She recognizes a few on her mother’s face now: fear, dread, and the kicker, denial.

“April, there is absolutely no reason for you to be -”

April drops her mom’s hands. 

“Isn’t there, though? God, Mom, when can you get it through your head that violent people don’t just save their violence for once in a blue moon? He hurt women. Guess what _we_ both are. And you know that it didn’t just start this year. You know that he’s had moments where we were both scared of what would happen if he got too mad. And I can’t - I’m tired of pretending that it’s not hard to fall asleep in this house because I’m afraid that something will happen to me in my sleep. Or to you. And if you can’t see that - can’t see that it’s hurting your daughter and yourself to keep _literally_ bailing him out, then I can’t - I can’t be here anymore.”

She’d been doing well, she thinks, up until the end, when she can hear her voice crack. 

“Honey…” her mom starts, eyes pleading and vulnerable and April really can't be here anymore. She backs up. 

“Just think about it, okay? Think about it. I have to go to school.”

She’s not proud of it, but she runs out of the kitchen, not fully breathing until she’s safe in the little bubble of her car, away from it all. 

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** (no subject)

_I’m sorry for doing this. My hands are shaking as I type this. I just am so utterly overwhelmed right now and I need something - I need someone steady. Everything feels like it’s falling out beneath me._

_Tell me something with no consequence. Tell me about which mediocre boy your sister is into this week. Tell me another conspiracy theory about One Direction. Send me a fucking BuzzFeed quiz. Tell me that I will have someone in this world even if both my parents turn their backs on me. Please._

April puts her phone away and takes a deep breath, before gear shifting, accelerating, willing her muscle memory to take her to school, to take her through her routine without having to encounter anything that would throw her even more off course. 

The Lord, as always, chooses to test her. 

“April, can we talk?”

April isn’t even out of her car before Sterling accosts her in the parking lot, all wide eyes and eager hope in voice. 

“I’d rather not,” April says coolly, “if I recall, I mentioned something about never wanting to talk to you again.”

She tries to move past her to go up into school, but Sterling follows her like a new puppy.

“I know, I know, and I’m sorry, but I promise, I just want to help.”

“Oh, I think you’ve helped enough.”

April rushes for the front steps, but Sterling grabs her by the forearm and spins her around. April glares at her, some of her anger redirecting at herself for always being caught off guard by this specific person.

“I have a friend who is very good with guns,” April blurts out. 

Sterling looks at her, confused for a second, but then appears unphased again. 

“I know what you’re doing,” she says, a terribly smug little smile growing on her face, “with your dad. I know you’re reporting him.”

April pulls her arm away, anger back to being fully directed at Sterling.

“You don’t know anything about me. Or my family. Why won’t you get it through your head?”

“Because I care about you, April. I want to help. I know you want to get away from him and I can help, I know people, I want to-”

And April is fucking tired. She is tired of people thinking they can fix things about her life, thinking that all the wrong they’ve done can just be forgiven, just like that, who think April will just bend over for them. It’s just too fucking much. 

“I don’t give a _fuck_ what you want, Sterling. I want you to leave me alone and get out of my life.”

“April-”

“No. You don’t know what I’ve been through. You don’t know anything about me. Just because we-” She cast a quick look around the thankfully empty parking lot. “-spent a week in an ill-advised attempt to quell our hormonal urges, that doesn't mean we know each other. That doesn't mean it _meant_ anything. So stop using me to try and quell your guilty conscious and for the love of all that is holy, leave me the fuck alone.”

She doesn’t look at Sterling before she runs off, heart beating in time with her feet clamoring up the stairs, needing to get away away away. 

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: (no subject)

_I feel like our horrible days keep syncing up. I’m crying in the bathroom right now, because of a stupid stupid fight that just gutted me. I’m so sorry that you’re going through this too._

_But if I can help you, maybe that can be my good thing today. So_ _here we go:_

_My sister hasn’t been into a boy for real in a minute, but the other day we were at Starbucks and the barista had a tattoo on his wrist that just said “burn it down” in a heart and she said that he might be her soulmate. He was… not cute though. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the Harry Styles and Taylor Swift committed vehicular manslaughter conspiracy theory, but it’s really coming back into the public consciousness. It’s totally fake, but there are certain song lyrics that make for a pretty fun story of the two of them totally killing someone with a car and getting away with it. Relatedly, here’s a quiz that will tell you which Taylor Swift album you are based on a fake vacation you plan. I got Fearless, which is objectively hilarious because I feel like these days, I’m afraid of everything. Great album though, people these days don’t respect her country stuff enough. Hopefully this will be enough to get your mind off the bad things at least for a second._

_I know that this sounds crazy given everything that has happened with my family recently, and I know you don’t even live in Atlanta, but honestly, if you can’t stay at home any more, you can stay at mine. My parents, for lack of a better word, are trying really hard to earn back my affection after lying to me for sixteen years, so the least I can do is use that to help someone out who has helped me so much this past month. Trust me, A. you’re not alone. You have me, I promise. And I’m sure there are people in your life who have your back; you’re too good not to._

_Oh man, I am now crying even more in the bathroom, but in a better way now I guess. Would love to someday not cry in bathrooms so much. But just know, I got you._

_Love,_

_TS_

The bell rings, making April reluctantly put away her phone. She wipes her eyes, looks down at her shoes. She laughs a little, surprising herself. She would also like to cry in bathrooms less often. She’s in the one furthest from Willingham’s front entrance, the one that no one uses much, smart enough even in her panic to not have her emotional breakdown in a place where anyone would intrude. 

She looks in the mirror, wincing at her expression before smoothing her hair back into a ponytail, dabbing her eyes with a paper towel and putting on a bit of concealer. It’s not perfect, but it will do. 

She slides in next to Hannah B. in homeroom, not looking over at anyone else. She opens her notebook, starts writing a to-do list. Anything to make her look like nothing is different. She wonders what her mom is thinking, if she’ll go back to a house where she hasn’t been chosen. She wonders what it would be like to go home, neatly pack the matching luggage set Daddy had gotten her for their mission trip two summers ago and ask a stranger on the internet for her address.

All through school, she keeps surreptitiously glancing at her phone, rereading the email. It’s crazy, it’s absolutely stupid and trusting of her, to even considering a probably polite and not actually concrete offer, from a person who may hate April on sight, or is a serial killer, or the kind of person who chews with their mouth open.

But it gets her through the day. It gets her through having to sit in her classes with Sterling, avoiding eye contact as best she could, and the one time she catches Sterling’s stupid big sad gaze, immediately feeling something absurdly akin to guilt pound in her chest. 

“Are you okay?” Hannah B. asks at lunch. 

“Why would I be anything but okay?” April snaps back, before purposefully calming herself. 

Hannah B.’s eyes go wide, which is always kind of fun to watch. 

“No reason!” she says quickly, “but my mom was wondering if you ever… if you ever want to stay over sometime, the trundle bed has your name on it. Like, literally.”

April smiles weakly, remembering when they were in sixth grade, their first solo sleepover, Mrs. B. too overly excited that her daughter had a friend who was smart and did all her homework on time, causing Hannah B. to roll her eyes. She remembers that night, Hannah B. saying April would never do anything against the rules, until April, in a burst of rebellion, inked her name in sharpie on the smooth white of Hannah. B’s trundle bed frame. 

She wonders what is wrong with her that she thought to ask a stranger on the internet for help before someone whose house she’s spent so many nights in. 

But she knows why. Because it’s TS. Because even now, even in the midst of anxiety crushing her from all sides, she still gets a warmth in the pit of her stomach at those words _I got you,_ at the _love_ signature. 

“You know, I might take you up on that,” she tells Hannah B., who reacts with obvious surprise. 

“Really?”

“Yes. Depending on - it just might be nice is all.”

“Cool,” Hannah B. says with a smile, “this weekend?”

“Sure,” April says, still airily, like it doesn't matter that much, even though something in her tugs a little at the thought of it. 

“What’s this weekend?” Ezekiel asks, sitting himself automatically next to April and handing her a Coke Zero. 

It’s a small thing, an inside joke, harkening back to an absolutely illogical argument they’d had freshman year about the stlight taste difference between Diet Coke and Coke Zero with April firmly standing her ground in the camp of the former. Ever since then, to lightly torment her, he’d taken to bringing her Coke Zeros whenever he could. At first it had been annoying, but now it brings a little bit of warmth to her gut. She smiles at Ezekiel before popping the can open. God, she’s emotional today.

“April’s coming over to my place!” Hannah B. says cheerfully, “you can come too if you want!”

He raises his eyebrows. “Your parents have revised their no boys policy?”

“Well, for you.”

April notices the way Ezekiel purposefully keeps his face calm, a signature easy smirk on his face.

“Why me?”

Hannah B. laughs to herself. “Oh because she thinks you’re dating April.”

April almost spits out her soda. 

“What gave her that impression?” She manages hoarsely. 

Ezekiel grins fully now. 

“Finally, someone notices our sizzling sexual tension.”

Before she can help it, April starts laughing. In no world did she think she would laugh today of all days, but here she is. 

“I don’t know, last time y’all were over for dinner, you were whispering and laughing _a lot.”_

“We were making fun of your mom’s new decor, Hannah B.,” April tells her gently, once she can breathe again.

“It’s abhorrent,” Ezekiel supplies.

“I think it’s cute.”

“There’s gaudy and then there’s your new dining room set, honey.”

“The gold’s too much?”

“The gold’s too much.”

April still finds herself giggling at it all, sipping on her Coke Zero and smiling across the table. She doesn’t even stop when she sees the Wesley twins walk by, Sterling’s wide eyes meeting hers. April even manages to stare her down, making Sterling the one to break eye contact this time. Maybe her day isn’t completely ruined.

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: (no subject)

_Hi TS,_

_I cannot thank you enough for all your encouraging words. It truly means the world to me. I’m sorry that your day was also awful. You know you can always talk about it here, even when I’m having a less than ideal time as well._

_Thank you for the kind offer, it’s definitely a rarity to be a person who has just had life-changing revelations about her parents, but still offers them up as a safe haven. You know, I used to get jealous when you talked about your parents and your sister, felt this craving for something so easy and simple and unconditional. Now, knowing the truth about them, is it weird that I still feel jealous? Not of the lying for sixteen years part, but the rest. I imagine it must be difficult to grapple with the truth of them lying to you, but still caring about you immensely._

_All this to say in a convoluted way, thank you. As always. I have the slightest amount more optimism than I did this morning due to you and a couple other factors. Right now I’m sitting in my car, prepping to go in and see if my mother will respond to what I think is a reasonable ultimatum I gave her. Depending on what she says, maybe I’ll show up at your house with a suitcase. Seems a little melodramatic for our first meeting, but I do have a particular flair for melodrama._

_Anyway, wish me luck. And thanks again._

_Love,_

_A_

_PS: Neither Harry Styles nor Taylor Swift has the wherewithal to kill someone in cold blood, no matter what their song lyrics are. And the quiz told me I’m Reputation, which is more than a little insulting._

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: (no subject)

_You got this!!! I promise, whatever is going on with your mom, no matter what happens you will have people in your corner._

_You’re so sweet to care about my problems while all this is going on. It’s okay. I mean it’s not, but I supposed compared to other things, it’s okay. My family stuff has gotten a little better, especially with my sister, who is the most important person in my life. With my parents, it's more complicated. You totally hit the nail on the head with how hard it is to deal with someone lying to you when like, you know they love you. And I love them too, I do, despite everything, I just don’t know when it will feel comfortable again. I miss that the most I think, how easy it used to be._

_None of that was why I was in a bad mood today though. It’s actually just this - I guess ex would be the best word for her. She has a way of getting under my skin and making me feel like a bad person, like no one else can. I don’t know, maybe I am a bad person, who has been fooling herself for sixteen years._

_Whew, this got derailed and existential for a second. She has a way of doing that to me. But that’s not the point. The point is, you are loved and you can have whatever conversation you need to have with your mom._

_Love love love,_

_TS_

_PS: Ok, some songs on Reputation actually are really good!!! It gets, dare I say it, a bad reputation?_

April stays in the car for 20 more minutes, rereading the email from TS, letting the words and the late autumn sunlight warm a bit of her anxiety away, until she’s brave enough to unbuckle her seatbelt and head inside. 

Her mom sits at the kitchen counter, like she hasn’t moved in eight hours. Her hands are crossed in front of her, the gold cross she always wears around her neck clenched in her fist. She certainly knows how to set a scene. 

“How was your day at school?” She asks stiffly as April approaches. 

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” April says. She’s going for strong, but it just sounds tired. She's just so tired. 

Melanie looks down at her hands then up at April before letting out a long sigh. 

“I’m paying his bail again,” she finally says. 

“Oh.”

April has spent all day expecting this, building contingency plans and emotionally preparing herself to be let down by the people who raised her once again. That doesn't stop it from hurting her; it doesn't stop her mother’s words from making her chest seize up and her throat close and her mouth go dry. 

Something must show in her face, because her mom stands up quickly and places her hands on April’s shoulders. 

“But,” she says, “when he gets out this time, he’ll be staying at the lake house, while we work out the… legalities.”

“The legalities?” April repeats, barely daring to keep her voice above a whisper, not allowing herself to feel something as childish as hope, though her body intrinsically lightens into her mother’s touch. 

“You know,” Melanie says, like it’s painful to say the words, “divorce. Restraining order. Whatever… whatever you need to feel safe.”

Academically, intellectually, April knows that this is the absolutely lowest bar for parenthood. It should be the first priority for her mother to have her safety at front of mind. But for the first time in years, April lets herself ignore the intellectual response. For the first time in years, she lets herself cry into her mother’s arms, relief taking over her whole body. 

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: (no subject)

_Hi TS,_

_Once again, thank you for your generosity. And once again, I am declining. But for better reasons this time I’d like to think. Maybe all things are not lost with my family (well, they are with my father, but what else is new?), and perhaps something can be rebuilt. I never really thought I would be saying this, but sometimes things turn out a little better than expected._

_For the risk of sounding overly sentimental, I'm at least ninety percent sure I wouldn't have gotten through this past month without you. Even while going through something hard and traumatic, you have an optimism that’s contagious, making even a cynic like me have some hope for the future._

_All that to say is, whoever this ex-girlfriend is who makes you doubt yourself, sounds like she has her own issues, and is clearly an idiot. Don’t waste time on her, you’re better than that._

_Love,_

_A_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey pals!! Thanks as always for gassing this story up in the comments, y'all are the best! This bad boy is set to be nine chapters as of now, so consider somewhere in this chapter to be the halfway point! 
> 
> The references to the bible in this chapter might not be the most accurate, given that most of my Old Testament knowledge is just vague memories from my Bat Mitzvah a zillion years ago, so my apologies if there was a goof. All references to America's Next Top Model ARE accurate though - season two was playing in the background as I wrote this and one of the contestants is named April, so it was kind of jarring. Anyway! Enjoy!

**xv. go to the mattresses part two**

Sterling has never been one to count the days until Christmas break, always almost missing the routines of school for the two weeks they have off, and feeling a little thrill when she gets to go back in January. 

This year though, it’s different. Everything that had previously given her joy at school now feels tainted for some reason. Well, one reason. One specific, five foot one, very angry, stupidly attractive reason. This year she is counting every second until she doesn’t have to walk the halls of Willingham for sixteen glorious days.

“Wonderful presentation, Sterling,” Ellen says with a smile, as Sterling finishes her last presentation for her last class before they are finally free. 

Sterling smiles back at Ellen, unable to control the good mood spreading over her with only 45 minutes left to go. Also, it honestly _was_ a wonderful presentation, and the Book of Numbers is normally super boring and she feels like she sufficiently spiced it up. She takes a moment to allow herself to be proud.

The moment ends all too quickly, with April’s hand shooting up. Because of course it does. 

“I have a couple questions,” April says, almost gleefully.

“Go ahead,” Ellen says, still cheerful, unaware that whatever April is going to say will undoubtedly crush whatever small high Sterling allowed herself to feel.

“So when Sterling here chose to question the repeated warning of outsiders approaching the camps, it seemed like she was almost questioning God Himself, as opposed to actually absorbing the text.”

“Oh my gosh, April, all I was saying is that it was slightly contradictory to Exodus when He says ‘do not mistreat an alien or oppress him-’”

“-for you were aliens in Egypt.’ I obviously know Exodus, I’m not a moron.”

Sterling looks at the smug smile on April’s face, combined with the fact that it has been _weeks_ now and there is no end in sight. So maybe she snaps a little.

“Well, sometimes it sure seems like it.”

“Ladies!” Ellen scolds, not harsh for a normal teacher, but harsh for her. “I expect more from both of you.”

“Sorry,” Sterling mutters, vaguely hears April do the same, but less genuinely. 

Forty minutes, she thinks to herself as she goes back to her desk and tries really hard not to glower. There are forty minutes until break at this point. Forty minutes until she doesn’t have to see April for two beautiful weeks. 

Sterling tries not to jump for joy when the bell rings. She plays it cool though, even takes her time packing up after class, hoping that maybe April will leave before her and they won't even have to have an interaction until it's a whole new calendar year.

“Could y’all hang back a smidge?” Ellen asks, ruining that hope. 

Sterling suppresses a sigh as she reluctantly pulls her bag over her shoulder. She steps up to the front of her class, where April stands, typing something on her phone, disinterest so obvious it’s clearly intentional. 

“Now,” Ellen says firmly, making April look up and put her phone away, “I don’t pretend to know the ins and outs of everyone’s business - even though you both know that there is always an open invite to talk to me about anything - but whatever is happening here with you two, I don’t like it.”

“That makes two of us,” Sterling says with a half smile. 

“Suck-up,” April mutters.

“Takes one to know one.”

“Girls!” Ellen stands up from her desk. “This has gone on long enough. When we get back from break, I expect y’all to be at least civil. It’s Christmas.”

Sterling just nods, thoroughly chastened.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Absolutely,” April says, smiling her extra fake smile. 

Ellen apparently buys it, because she claps them both on the back with a grin on her face, the poor woman.

Sterling and April leave the classroom, accidentally in step with each other. Maybe it’s the synchronization that Sterling notices, or the fact that it’s just the two of them alone for the first time in weeks now, but something causes Sterling to say casually to April, “you know, maybe she has a point.”

She regrets it as soon it's out of her mouth, and April whips around to face her. Sterling tenses, expecting anger, but April just smiles at her, sickly sweet. 

“Please stop kidding yourself about us, Sterling. It’s, frankly, pathetic.”

And then, with a flip of shiny hair, she’s gone down the hall. 

“You gotta stop letting her get to you like that,” Blair says on their drive home, “it's been, like, months at this point.”

“I know, I know,” Sterling says, “it’s like she’s gotten stronger and meaner since the news came out about her parents’ divorce.”

“It’s because by the rigid societal rules we adhere to, once a wife and daughter admit to being victims of a situation, they are flooded with care and sympathy, even if mere days before, they were condemned by the same people for being caught in the same situation.”

Sterling just stares at her sister. Blair shrugs. 

“What? I’ve been listening to podcasts on my runs recently, you learn a lot of shit. But my point is, good for April and her mom for getting away from Mr. Stevens, but boo on her for still being a dick to you. Honestly, in a way, we are the ones who helped get her shitty dad out of her life.”

“I don’t think she sees it like that.”

“That’s the problem, Sterl,” Blair enthuses, hitting the gas a little too hard, “you care too much about what _she_ thinks, what _she_ sees.”

Sterling slumps in the passenger seat in defeat. “I know, you’re right, A says the same thing.”

Blair grins at her, raising her eyebrows. “Ooohh, is that what Aaaaaa said?” 

Sterling, embarrassingly, goes a little red. “It’s not like that.”

“Hmm, it's not? Is this not the same girl who you offered _our house_ to stay in even though, once again, _you do not know who she is?”_

“She didn’t even take me up on it!” 

“But you offered! That’s the point! The thing I don’t get is why you can do that but can’t, I don’t know, ask for her phone number like a normal person? Didn’t you say she moved to Atlanta?”

“Yeah, she did. But it’s - I don’t know, it’s just a delicate situation, is all.”

“I think the only thing delicate is both of your little hearts afraid of actually making the first move.”

“It’s complicated!”

Blair rolls her eyes, but thankfully drops it for the time being. Not that Sterling stops thinking about it. It’s not a new thought, the way her stomach jumps a little every time her phone gives the sharp specific buzz of an email. The way that, she doesn’t know when it happened, but the thing she looks forward to most is this little glimpse into this girl’s life that somehow Sterling has lucked herself into. 

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: Good Thing

_Okay, you might mock me for this one, but I’m pretty sure my good thing today was the simple act of alphabetizing my bookshelf. Yes, I am absolutely a blast at parties, but God, she’s beautiful. I think, now that my dad is permanently out of the house, I might actually start stocking it with things that aren’t exactly… appropriate for a young Christian girl of good breeding. Can you believe he used to call me that? Like, I’m pretty sure, unless you’re a dog, “good breeding” is just one step away from eugenics. Horrifying. Good riddance._

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: Good Thing

_Okay, first of all, there is something so powerful and, dare I say, sexy about a well organized shelf. Also, way to bury the lede on your dad being actually gone from the house! Literally everything you say about him makes me hate him more, so wow! Merry Christmas to all!_

_My good thing is simple: America’s Next Top Model. The first episode is literally older than me but the drama is unreal. My parents aren’t quite at the point to fully reprimand me for anything yet, so my sister and I watched the whole first season in my bed and didn’t do anything else all day. The dream._

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: Good Thing

_Yes, I can’t believe I didn’t mention it. That man is moved out, what a blessing. Which leads me to today’s good thing where, in a particularly vengeful move, I took clothes from his closet and donated them to three different organizations, one for immigrants, one for refugees, and one for LGBTQ youth. His nice clothes too._

_Okay, because I respect your opinion, I did put on an episode of Top Model, and I just… couldn’t finish. TS, I genuinely believe you are better than this._

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: Good Thing

_The point is that it’s bad, A. It’s like, definitely messed up on 50 different levels but that’s what makes it fun to laugh at. It’s the drama and the pettiness and how it has absolutely nothing to do with modeling. My sister wants to get it rebooted so she can go on and have a fake breakdown and be a fan favorite. I think she’d kill it._

_My good thing today (besides you screwing it to your dad, heck yeah) is the reality of it being a Sunday where I don’t have to go to school tomorrow. I know that sounds lame, and I actually kind of love school, but the relief is crazy. It’s just been a stressful semester, you know?_

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: Good Thing

_Trust me, I get it. I woke up this morning and it was the first Monday in forever I haven’t felt this need to put on a persona. I was able to just be me. It’s been a little too long._

_Today, for my good thing, I took a page out of your book and didn’t leave my bed today, just read The Price of Salt in one sitting. There was a bit to much build up to them getting together, and once they did, I honestly expecting a better sex scene, but it was still a very compelling romance, and fascinating from a historical context._

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: Good Thing

_I think it fully demonstrates the differences between us that you read a full book yesterday and I watched another full season of ANTM. (In news from 2004, I think April should have made top three instead of Yoanna, but WHATEVER!) But it would be boring if we were the same, you know? Even though I did borrow some of my mom’s Outlander books this afternoon. If you want some good sex scenes, they kind of slap. It’s like, clearly for middle aged women to be way too into, which is gross if I think about it too much. So I try not to and just enjoy the truly gratuitous descriptions of Jamie’s physique. And also Claire’s. Great description all around._

_I’m going to say reading those books has been the good thing today. Or maybe at dinner when my mom and I talked about them. It feels like the first time in a while we’ve had a conversation that didn’t have this layer of tension over it all. I’ve forgotten how much I’ve missed that._

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: Good Thing

_Team April, of course, how dare Yoanna? (I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I am choosing to be supportive.)_

_So what I’m learning from your literature taste, is that your type is apparently the Scottish variety. Not what I would have thought, but fascinating nevertheless._

_I’m currently trying to find that balance with my mother. We’re not quite at the discuss books about with gratuitous sex scenes level, but I’d like to think we are about ninety percent there. We did sit through a whole episode of The Masked Singer together and I believe we bonded over guessing that LeAnn Rimes was The Sun. So that was something._

_I don’t think that qualifies as my good thing though. To follow up to my reading, after my mom went to bed, I watched Carol. Still nerve wracking, even though she was asleep, but I made it through. I never say this, but it might have even been better than the book. Seasonally appropriate too._

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: Good Thing

_Look, my type knows no constrictions, it can’t be tamed! I think having a type in the first place is a very silly idea, it’s limiting! The only two people I’ve been with maybe couldn’t be more different than each other and I personally love that for me. I’m a sexual enigma. Oh God, that sounds gross. You know what I mean. Hopefully._

_My good thing today was when my - I guess boss would be the right word - came over and gave me and my sister Christmas presents. I really didn’t think he was the type for gift giving, and the gifts themselves were just tacky jewelry from a stand in the mall, but he was all nervous like, “they told me this is what teens are into these days,” and it was just so cute!!! And then my mom invited him to stay for dinner, which I thought would be super awkward, but it was just nice. So, it was a good day._

_Also, it’s such a double standard for you to judge me for ANTM when you are watching The Masked Singer!! Come on, A, that’s not playing fair._

  
  


“Is this flirting for dorks?” 

Sterling jumps a foot at her desk before turning around the glare at her sister.

“How are you so quiet? And stop reading my emails!”

“I think it's less that I’m quiet and more that you’re distracted. And, no I won’t stop. _Sexual enigma_ , Sterl?”

“Is it too much?”

Blair grins.

“Nah, it’s good for your little vocab word vibe. Which, speaking of, you totally lied, you do have a type.”

“I do not!”

“Okay, maybe not with boys, but the two girls you’ve been into are both like… judgemental nerds with daddy issues.”

Sterling gasps in shock. “Okay, how dare you?”

“A seems like an actual nice person at least, but, am I wrong?”

Sterling just sputters a little, which really doesn’t help her case. But she shoves the thought aside. The last thing she wants to do is to devote any more brain power to April Stevens. 

“Just stop reading over my shoulder.”

Blair kisses the top of her head. “That means I’m right. And no.”

Sterling rolls her eyes and shuts her laptop forcefully, but she is still smiling. 

It’s just easier being home from school. She looks forward to things to tell A and it makes her notice all the small details that had been passing her by ever since the shitstorm of a few months ago. 

Like on Christmas, after presents and church and too much food, when she piles on the couch with her family to watch _It’s a Wonderful Life_ as they always do, and the only hint of conflict comes when Blair points out that George Bailey is basically a socialist and Anderson sputters a little before going off about America and FDR and Democracy. 

It’s a comfortable argument, a familiar one that makes Sterling sit back on the couch with her hot chocolate and watch them with fondness. She catches Debbie doing the same thing and doesn’t avoid eye contact, for once. 

Debbie smiles before leaning over to Sterling and whispering, “she’ll drop ‘consumerism culture’ in three… two…”

“Not to mention how Christmas has been taken over by consumerism culture, even though the message of Christmas is inherently anti-capitalist!”

Sterling stifles a laugh and looks over at Debbie doing the same, a warmth spreading in her that she can’t even pretend is because all of George’s friends and family come through for him at the last minute. (“It’s a real mutual aid moment,” Blair stage whispers to Anderson, who rolls his eyes but throws an arm around her.)

That night she lays in bed, Christmas movies on in the background, unable to go to sleep for far better reasons than the past few months. Blair falls asleep right in the middle of the climax of _Love, Actually_ , when that kid starts running through the airport to tell his crush he loves her. Sterling watches Blair’s face in the blue light of the screen, watches Colin Firth profess his love in a language he just learned, and opens a new tab on her laptop. 

The chat box on the side of her email taunts her, and when she glances at the clock, there’s still a few minutes before it’s officially not-Christmas ****

**_TS_ ** _: Merry Christmas, A. Not to be too cheesy but having you in my life has been a real gift._

“Gay,” Blair murmurs beside her.

“I thought you were asleep!” Sterling hisses, tilting her laptop away from her sister.

“I woke up to the sound of exceedingly gay typing,” Blair says, flopping over on her side. “Proceed.”

Sterling rolls her eyes, but the effect is lost when she jumps at her computer dinging at her. 

**_A_ ** _: Merry Christmas. Trust me, the feeling is more than mutual._

Sterling grins at her screen until her cheeks hurt. 

“Jesus, just go down on her already.”

“Blair!”

It becomes a thing, for the rest of break, the chatting. It’s thrilling, the way that she knows that A is doing what she is at the exact same moment, makes it almost like they're actually having a conversation, right in the same moment. 

**_TS:_ ** _Do you have any New Year's resolutions?_  
 **_A:_ ** _I find the concept of New Year's resolutions to imply that I was performing below standards so I refuse to take part. Also I’ve had a list of life goals since I was seven, so the new year is arbitrary._  
 **_TS:_ ** _Damn, okay, look at you._  
 **_A:_ ** _Sorry, too much?_  
 **_TS:_ ** _No, I like it. It’s aspirational._  
 **_A:_ ** _How about you? Resolutions?_  
 **_TS:_ ** _It’s pretty vague, mostly just the same stuff I’m working on in therapy. Forgiveness of myself and others. Also there’s - okay this might be petty._  
 **_A:_ ** _Who do you think you’re talking to?_  
 **_TS:_ ** _Fair._  
 **_A:_ ** _Out with it._  
 **_TS:_ ** _So the main reason I’m not, like, thrilled to go back to school is, like, one particular person._  
 **_A:_ ** _Of course, the ex. We daren’t forget her._  
 **_TS:_ ** _Sometimes you talk like someone in a regency novel._  
 **_A:_ ** _Been digging into more of your mom’s romance books, I see?_  
 **_TS:_ ** _No! Maybe. They’re really good._  
 **_A:_ ** _You’re stalling._  
 **_TS:_ ** _Ugh, you're right. I guess I resolve to just stop letting her get to me._  
 **_A:_ ** _Is that it?_  
 **_TS:_ ** _What do you mean?_  
 **_A:_ ** _If my understanding is correct, this girl made your already incredibly difficult semester far more difficult, and your only resolution is to stop it from getting to you?_  
 **_TS:_ ** _Well, what would you suggest then?_  
 **_A:_ ** _Simple. Revenge._  
 **_TS:_ ** _Jesus, you’re kind of scary sometimes._  
 **_A:_ ** _I’ve been told._  
 **_TS:_ ** _I like it._  
 **_A:_ ** _I’ve been told that less often._  
 **_TS:_ ** _Happy to correct that._  
 **_A:_ ** _I don’t mean revenge like shooting her or anything, though don’t think I forgot about that skill._  
 **_TS:_ ** _What kind of revenge do you mean then?_  
 **_A:_ ** _Just show her that her behavior doesn’t affect you. Trust me, nothing is more chilling than letting someone else believe they are irrelevant. It’s like that scene in Mad Men where Ginsberg says, “I feel bad for you” and then Don demolishes him with, “I don’t think about you at all.”_  
 **_TS:_ ** _You watch Mad Men?_  
 **_A:_ ** _You don’t? Anyway, by point is, it’s a winning strategy._  
 **_TS:_ ** _I don’t know if I’m good enough at acting for that, but maybe I’ll try._  
 **_A:_ ** _I believe in you, TS._

**xvi. make me**

Something weird has happened to Sterling. Not that April is spending any of her valuable time paying attention Sterling. Especially not after Christmas break, when she made a solemn vow to place Sterling far far back in the reaches of her mind, choosing instead to do what she’s pretty sure is flirt with someone else quite successfully. 

But now, Sterling looks like she’s fucking glowing every time she passes April in the halls. It's not like she's specifically ignoring April either, she doesn't avoid eye contact anymore, just exists as if nothing ever occured between the two of them. 

“Did she get visited by three ghosts or something?” April wonders out loud at lunch after a jarring incident in Spanish class where she had corrected Sterling's pronunciation and Sterling just smiled at her and gave her a cheerful _¡muchas gracias!_ It’s was unnerving. April does not appreciate being unnerved. 

Ezekiel tilts his head in Sterling’s general direction, as she sits a few tables away from them, animatedly talking to Blair. 

“She does seem different,” he admits, “maybe it’s a new skincare regimen. Why are we paying attention to her?”

“No reason,” April says quickly. 

Despite her better judgement, her eyes follow Sterling as she gets up from her table and gets closer to them. April hates that she watches her, hates that she’s even noticing Sterling, when Sterling is nothing more than a mistake, a liar, and a -

“Did you get a new skincare regimen?” Hannah B. asks as Sterling passes. “We were wondering.”

Sterling’s eyebrows raise. 

“You were wondering about my skin?”

April feels her face get warm, which is terribly inconvenient.

Blair, who is, as always, by Sterling’s side, appraises her sister. 

“Your skin does look really good.”

“Oh my god, thank you!” Sterling turns back to Hannah B., grinning. “It’s honestly just moisturizer. Hey, your skin looks really good too!”

April rolls her eyes as Hannah B. smiles at the praise. She expects Sterling to look at her next, expects that nervous energy that had been hanging off of her since the fall to resurface, but instead she just smiles cheerfully at all three of them. 

“See y’all in class!” She says, with a jaunty wave.

“That was weird,” April remarks.

“Was it?” Ezekiel asks, eyes a little too appraising.

“Why do neither of you ever tell me I have nice skin?” Hannah B. says, breaking the light tension that had built in April’s shoulders. 

“I’ll make a note to compliment you more,” April snaps automatically.

“I know you’re being sarcastic, but I would honestly appreciate it.”

April rolls her eyes, but welcomes the distraction. She tries to ignore the way Ezekiel still looks at her like he knows something. 

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Question

_I realize we haven’t discussed this yet, but have you told anyone about how you’re also into women? For obvious reasons, no one knows about me except the person I was briefly involved with that I prefer not to think about._

_I have a friend that I’ve known for years and is clearly gay, but no one says anything. I’ve thought about telling him probably for the past three years and I would say I’m about ninety percent there, but something keeps holding me back. Beyond, of course, the obvious societal and parental woes. I think it just feels like if there is a full crack in the dam, it will break. And I don’t quite think I’m ready for that._

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: Question

_So far, I’ve only told my sister and my therapist that I’m bi. Oh, and my ex (revenge going FLAWLESSLY by the way) obviously knows. I don’t think there’s anything holding me back from telling anyone else. I mostly just haven't because I don’t really talk to anyone else about anything real anymore except the two of them. And you. The big three!!! Someday though, for sure, once things are a little more normal with my parents._

_I think if you want to, you can talk to your friend about it. I’m sure he would understand. Also, I remember a while back, you mentioned that your mom had a cousin that your dad wouldn’t let you see because he’s gay? Well, your dad’s not around anymore. Maybe he could be like a gateway person to talk to? I totally get not being ready for it all at once, but I think it’s really cool that you’re thinking about it._

_Love,_

_TS_

**From:** astevens@willingham.edu  
 **To:** robert.velazquez@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Hello  
 _Hi Robert,_

_This may seem very out of blue, given that I don’t believe we’ve spoken since I was six, but I wanted to reach out and re-introduce myself. I’m April Stevens, Melanie’s daughter, your first cousin once removed. I found this email on LinkedIn and I hope it’s correct. If not, please disregard._

_I wanted to reach out because I know that my parents haven’t been the kindest to you. To be frank, they haven’t been the kindest to me either. Long story short, my father, for various reasons, no longer resides in our home and I have hopes of maybe correcting the some wrongs he’s made in the first 16 years of my life. So I was wondering, if you ever find yourself in the Atlanta area any time soon, you’d want to get coffee or dinner or something. I would love to get to know you and your husband now, I believe, better._

_Let me know!_

_Best,_

_April Stevens_

**From:** robert.velazquez@gmail.com  
 **To:** astevens@willingham.edu  
 **Subject:** Re: Hello

_April!!!_

_Yes, hello! I fully remember you from over a decade ago, believe it or not. You said you were too old to read Frog and Toad when I got it for you for Christmas, and I told you that Frog and Toad is a timeless classic, which I stand by. You were such a smart and sweet kid, and clearly that has not changed over the years. This is such a thoughtful email to send._

_I doubt it's a secret that I am not the biggest fan of your father, though I am sorry to hear that there is turmoil in your family. It's never a fun time, even if you don’t care for people involved. I think you are a very noble person, for wanting to correct some things he has messed up, but just in case no adult in your life has told you this, that is completely not your responsibility. You’re a teenager. Go to a party! Drive with your windows down! Have an ill-advised crush! You don’t owe it to anyone to right their wrongs, you deserve to live for you._

_Sorry, that was a lot for our first contact in ten years, but I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic. At least, that’s what my husband tells me. All that to say, I would absolutely love to meet up the next time I’m in Atlanta. I actually go there fairly regularly for work these days, our next trip is scheduled for just a few weeks from now, and I would love nothing more than to take you out to a nice meal. There’s a place in Midtown that does an amazing drag brunch, if you’re game._

_I’m beyond thrilled you reached out, and can’t wait to keep chatting!_

_Love,_

_Bobby_

**_A_** _ **:** Oh my god, he responded! _  
**_TS_** _ **:** Gay cousin?? _  
**_A_** _ **:** Gay cousin. _  
**_TS_** _ **:** Omg!!!! Wow this is huge!! Are you guys hanging? _  
**_A:_** _Yes, get this, we’re going to a drag brunch._  
 **_TS:_ ** _Holy shit, I didn’t even know that was a something that existed._  
 **_A:_** _Right?_  
 **_TS:_** _But drag queens and brunch are two of the best things out there so the combined effort can only be spectacular._  
 **_A:_** _That was my thought process as well._  
 **_TS:_ ** _Did you tell him you’re gay, or are you saving it for brunch?_  
 **_A:_ ** _Not yet. It doesn’t seem like a thing you say over email._  
 **_TS_ :** _..._  
 **_A:_** _Oh._  
 **_TS:_** _Telling someone you’re gay over email? Who would do such a thing?_  
 **_A:_ ** _Shut up._  
 **_TS:_ ** _Make me._  
 **_A:_ ** _Would that I could, TS, would that I could._

Her first mistake is being in a good mood. That never goes well for her. But she can’t help it on this particular Monday. She had gotten her English paper back with a bunch of exclamation marks around her A (and she managed to see absolutely no exclamation points on anyone else’s); forensics is starting up again and April feels the competitive spirit ready to be unleashed within her; she was totally right about who the zebra is on _The Masked Dancer;_ and this weekend marks her upcoming foray into drag brunch. 

She walks into debate fifteen minutes early with a spring in her step, only to see that she is not the first one to practice; Coach Esposito and Sterling are talking very animatedly about something, looking the very picture of cahoots. April's good mood immediately vanishes. Of course this is something she has to deal with.

“April!” Coach Esposito says, too excitedly, when he sees her, “Sterling and I were just talking strategies for this semester.”

“ _Sterling_ has strategies?” April asks, trying to inject the perfect combination of disdain and surprise into her words. 

“Yup!” Sterling says cheerfully, despite what April is pretty sure was a devastating hit. “After all, I did place further than you last time.”

That, unfortunately, is a devastating hit. 

Coach Esposito seems to ignore it though, sitting down and putting his feet up on the desk. 

“Sterling has some solid ideas for morale boosting this semester.”

April rolls her eyes. 

“Morale boosting is for people who don’t have the skillset to win on their own.”

Sterling looks over to Coach Esposito. “See my point?”

April crosses her arms, tries not to let it show too much how much it gets to her that Sterling clearly talked about her behind her back. 

“Look,” Coach Esposito says, before April can say something she’ll regret, “I would love to just make it past a quarterfinal this semester, okay? And if you two want to beef your ideas out for it, go ahead.”

“I’m the captain,” April snaps. 

Sterling just blinks, shrugging a shoulder.

“I mean, it’s a team, so shouldn’t there be input from all players?”

“Okay, there are five of you, I think we can calm down a little,” Coach Esposito says, tiredly, “and April’s still the captain.”

April grins. 

“But,” he continues, “a good captain should probably pay attention when people on their team has ideas. So you two work it out, okay?” He looks at his watch. “Okay, we got ten minutes before practice, I’m gonna take a smoke break.”

“Smoking kills,” Sterling and April say at the same time. April glares at her. 

“Never said it was cigarettes, girls,” he says with a laugh before walking out of the classroom.

“Is Coach Esposito smoking _weed_?” Sterling asks, scandalized, like April is a co-conspirator, not someone she tried to commit mutiny against mere minutes ago. 

April waits till the door swings shut before she turns to Sterling.

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?” 

Sterling’s eyebrows raise. April studies her. She’s projecting this air of cool that she’s had for the last couple months, April can tell, but there’s something underneath that, something nervous. April can work with that. 

She steps forward. Sterling steps back so she's trapped between April and Coach Esposito’s desk. Good.

“I said, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing, April! God, can’t I do anything without you jumping down my throat?”

“Not if you keep actively trying to make my life worse.”

Sterling rolls her eyes. April could kill her. 

“Have you ever thought that maybe,” Sterling says, straightening up to her full height, “not everything is about you?”

“Trust me, you have no idea what I’m thinking.”

Sterling has the audacity to smile. “But I do, don’t I?”

April rarely notices how much taller Sterling is than her, but in this moment, Sterling seems to tower over her, making April have to look up to meet her eyes. April hates it. She steps even closer to Sterling, points a finger into her chest. 

“Don’t pretend you know me,” she hisses, “just because you know one big thing about me, don’t think that you really know what I’m capable of.”

“Oh please. I know you, April Stevens. Don’t think that’s not true, just because you’re angry at me. Don’t think you’re above being known.”

“You’re wrong,” April snaps, “you’re just lying again. What you do best.”

“You hate that I know you so well,” Sterling continues, voice dropping lower, so that April can feel her words more than hear them, “I’ve known for most of my life, April, I know what makes you tick. I know what makes you furious, I know that you care so much - ”

April fists her hand in Sterling’s shirt to shut her up. 

“Stop. Talking.”

“Make me.”

It’s childish, it’s beyond cliche, it’s a terrible _terrible_ idea, but as soon as those words leave Sterling’s mouth, April kisses her, hard and relentless, pushing her into the desk as her mouth opens against April’s.

It’s nothing like the first time they kissed, months ago now, so soft and new and joyous. This time, April’s hand is firm when she grasps the back of Sterling’s neck, bites down on her lip, grins when Sterling lets out a deep low sound against her. 

“April,” Sterling whispers and it’s suddenly too tender, too _Sterling_ for what should be happening. 

She pushes back from Sterling, tries to remember how to breathe, tries to remember that this is the exact opposite of what she told herself she would do. Sterling just looks at her in shock, putting her hand to her mouth. It’s all too familiar.

April stands up, makes sure her hands don’t shake when she straightens her shirt. She pulls herself to her full height, wishing it was taller.

“Can we just talk?” Sterling asks, slightly out of breath.

“No, I think I’m done with talking.”

She watches with a twist of satisfaction and a twist of something else as Sterling’s face falls. The part of April that isn’t shell shocked is a little satisfied that this untouchable veneer Sterling’s been sporting for these past couple months is finally broken. But then a determination comes over Sterling’s features and before April can dissect it, Sterling pulls April back in by the waist until their bodies are even closer and their mouth’s are an inch apart.

“Let’s not talk then.”

This time, Sterling meets April halfway when April lunges forward to kiss her. Sterling leans back against the desk and April steps in between her legs, hand cupping Sterling’s neck as she opens her mouth against Sterling's. She can feel Sterling’s heartbeat under her thumb and it’s intoxicating. It’s all intoxicating, she could do this for hours, feel how Sterling’s body leans up into her hands, feel the vibration of each of Sterling’s little gasps against her mouth. 

Then Sterling’s hands are pushing gently against April’s shoulders until April pulls back. She takes in the way Sterling is breathing heavily, lips still wet from April’s spit, which should be gross, but it’s somehow the hottest thing April has ever seen in her life. 

“I, um,” Sterling says, and April takes a minute to appreciate how speechless she is, “I - we should stop before Coach Esposito comes back.”

“Right.”

The gravity of the situation hit April suddenly, that the door to the classroom isn’t even locked, that _she_ had been the one to kiss Sterling. Twice. Even after everything, she still caved. She steps back quickly, tries to even out her breathing.

“April,” Sterling starts, still out of breath, “we, um, should-”

“If you say talk-”

Sterling lets out a breathless little laugh. “I mean, last time I said that, oh about two minutes ago, I got some pretty great results.”

Despite herself, despite everything, April feels herself laughing too. “Great?”

“Don’t pretend it wasn’t.”

And April can’t do that. She has enough things she’s pretending right now. She knows this is dangerous, knows that she is close to losing herself like she did last fall, knows that there is still a part of her that is furious at Sterling, and maybe always will be, but she also knows the way her hands are still warm from the way they felt on Sterling, that there is something rising in her chest that is threatening to take over her whole body.

Before she can say anything she’ll regret, the door swings open, and suddenly Coach Esposito and the rest of the team comes through the door and all April can do is step away from Sterling.

“You two work everything out?” Coach Esposito asks.

“Yes, coach,” Sterling says, with an alarmingly straight face.

April just nods. 

“Great!” He claps them both on the back. “That’s what makes a winning team.”

“Sure thing,” Sterling says, catching April’s eye. 

April, despite her better judgement, doesn’t look away. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of chapter 6/9 (nice), I finally get to dive into my favorite POV of Sterling being stupid horny, thank you for joining me on this journey.

**xvii. trust your gut**

Sterling lasts about 30 seconds. 

She sits in the passenger seat, foot tapping, more energy in her body than she's felt in months, as Blair puts the car in gear, pulls out of their spot, and is barely out of the parking lot before she breaks.

“April kissed me,” Sterling blurts out. 

“Like, back last year or-”

“Like, just now, right before debate practice.”

Blair’s foot slams on the brake so hard that Sterling lurches forward, seat belt choking her. 

“Ow!”

“ _Just now?_ April kissed you just now? _”_

“Yeah, and it was kind of… um, incredible?” 

“I…” Blair’s mouth hangs open for a second.

“Blair, listen, I know you’re going to have an opinion and honestly, I don’t even know what _my_ opinion is, but holy shit, it was maybe the hottest thing that has ever happened to me. Or anyone. Ever. At first, we were yelling and fighting but then she just like, pushed me against the desk and kissed me and then suddenly we were full making out, but we were still angry but also both super into it and God, if we weren’t in school, I would have let her-”

“Let her-?”

Sterling feels herself blushing, but she doesn’t care. She swallows before letting out, “I would have let her go all the way right there on Coach Esposito’s desk."

Blair just stares at her for several moments, mouth open. Absently, Sterling thinks that if they weren’t at a red light, this would be quite dangerous, but most of her just feels her sister’s judgement hot on her face.

“Holy shit, Sterl. I didn’t even think you still liked April.”

“I don’t! Well, I do. Ugh, I don’t know! I mean, I think there’s a part of me that’s probably always going to care about her in some capacity and I’m obviously still just crazy attracted to her, but I wouldn’t say that I _like_ her. She has been like, really mean to me.”

“And that’s a turn on for you?”

“God, no, gross!” Sterling says reflexively, but the more she thinks about it, “but, uh, maybe? Just for her, though.”

Blair looks over at Sterling, appraising her.

“Huh,” she finally says. 

“Huh? That’s all?”

“Can I tell you my honest opinion?”

“Always.”

“I am, like, fully obsessed with this idea of your sexual liberation.”

“Obsessed?”

“Let me finish. So I’m super on board with the idea of you having like a hot little angry make out sesh in a classroom. Love it. Fly that freak flag, so proud of you, et cetera, et cetera. That said, I'm not a hundred percent sure that April Stevens being the one to give that to you, after she’s treated you like shit for months, is exactly ideal.”

It honestly is a lot more gentle than she was expecting from Blair, and she kind of hates how right she is. How her body still feels like it’s on fire in every place April had touched it, but she also spent one too many times crying due to April over the past several months for her to fully give into that feeling. Even if said feeling is… persuasive.

“Ugh, I think you might be right.”

Blair shrugs with a soft smile. “I am infinitely wise.”

“I just wish - I feel like it’s somewhere in there, you know, with April, like if we could actually sit down and talk it out, we could get somewhere, but she’s just so…”

“April.”

“Yeah.”

Sterling lets out a sigh as they pull into the Yogurtopia parking lot. Her phone buzzes in her pocket and she can’t help but smile in the surge of anticipation that comes over her at the sound. 

“It’s just Mom in the groupchat,” Blair says, looking at her own phone. 

“Oh,” Sterling says, trying not to sound too disappointed.

Blair narrows her eyes at her sister.

“So we gotta unpack that whole situation, too?”

And, Christ, Sterling really _really_ doesn’t want to unpack that whole situation. She doesn’t want to admit that she is on the precipice of feeling something huge every time her phone goes off, yet she feels the same hugeness just thinking about April’s hands on her, April’s body warm and solid against her.

“Can’t we just go to work?”

Work, apparently, mostly involves Sterling staring at every surface in the shop and imagining what would happen if April pushed her on top of them. It’s not very productive.

“Hey Bowser!” Blair calls, snapping Sterling out of a work-inappropriate daydream for the fifth time in twenty minutes.

“Hmm?” Bowser sticks his head out of his office, pencil behind his ear. It’s pretty cute. 

“Since there are no customers, can I get some intel on whatever case you’re working?”

“Nope!” He says cheerfully.

“But I’m bored!”

“Not my problem.”

Only a small part of Sterling’s brain is focused on the conversation happening beside her; the rest of it wonders if she would fit on the little part of the counter that only exists to chop up the fruit, or April would have to physically hold her up there, hands firm on her thighs, arms- 

“Sterling!”

“Huh?”

Blair grins at her in a way that shows she knows exactly what was going through Sterling’s mind, before turning back to Bowser.

“Okay, Bows, riddle me this.”

Bowser sighs indulgently, but gestures for Blair to go on. 

“Do we think Sterling should make a move with someone she’s never met before or follow her questionable sexual libido for a person who maybe hates her?”

Sterling coughs on the air. 

“Blair!”

Bowser puts a hand over his face.

“I’m going to kindly pretend that I didn’t hear anything that just came out of your mouth. Y’all are children, ride a god damn bike or something.”

For the rest of their shift, Bowser sends warning glares at Blair if she even thinks of bringing it up again. It’s honestly pretty funny. Or, it would be pretty funny if Sterling wasn’t desperate at this point for anyone’s advice on this situation. Not that she doesn’t trust Blair’s thoughts; she just knows that Blair these days will always think protectively first, something that Sterling appreciates with everything she has, but it isn’t ideal at this moment, when her whole body seems to be telling her to do something that she knows maybe isn't the smartest.

Sterling thinks about texting her therapist, but she isn’t sure this constitutes a deep dive; isn’t sure she’s ready for a deep dive. Part of Sterling longs to confide in Debbie about this, to have one of their long talks they used to have, Sterling curled under Debbie’s arm. But something holds her back, the rawness of last year still finding her, unable to fully let go.

If Sterling is being honest with herself, there is only one person she really wants to talk to about all of it. Of her growing feelings for someone she has never seen before in her life, how she’s not sure if she’s ever felt this specific warmth talking to another person like this; but also the way her heart has been beating fast for hours, now, the fact that April Stevens still manages to make her feel more _alive_ than anyone else ever has. 

So when Sterling gets home, the boldness of an unlocked classroom still lingering in her fingertips, she goes immediately up to her room, and opens up her laptop. 

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** your opinion

_Hi, okay, this is kind of a weird request, but I would love your opinion on a situation my sister has found herself in._

_So she has a long history with this one guy, let’s call him Aaron. They’ve known each other forever, with some ups and downs, and there was a second where they were actually together, but it ended quickly, and Aaron was kind of a jerk to her, but then just recently, there were sparks a-flying between them again. Somehow, even after everything, Aaron always lights something passionate and unnamable inside her that no one else has been able to match._

_So there’s that. Then, to make things even more complicated, my sister has been friends with this other guy, let’s call him Angel, for years, and they think they might be at the point of something more than friendship. Angel is someone who has been there for her in really tough times and sometimes it feels like he’s the only person she can talk to about certain things._

_Which brings us to now, where there’s this new physical thing with Aaron. Should she pursue it further even though there is such potential with Angel? She doesn’t want to go back to any toxic patterns with Aaron, but God, he makes her feel like she didn’t even know it was possible to feel. And Angel, he could be the real deal, but she doesn’t even know if he likes her like that._

_Anyway, she’s been going around in circles and it’s driving her a little bonkers and doesn’t know what to do. She would love a second opinion. Well, third._

_Love,_

_TS_

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: your opinion

_I can’t believe it took you until this point to share your sister’s intriguing heterosexual drama with me. How dare you, TS?_

_First of all, who do you like better? You always seem to have an opinion on the men in your sister’s life, so whatever you instinctively think, I would trust your gut. I think she has to gauge if Angel is actually interested in her. It seems foolish to pass over an opportunity for passion (wow, you and your sister really talk about everything, huh?), for some guy who may only see her as a friend._

_And in the meantime, maybe something can exist with Aaron. I don’t pretend to have much experience in the matter, but I do think there can be something both cathartic and erotic about breaking a tension with someone you have a history with. Maybe she doesn’t have to make a choice right now, maybe she can just… indulge. She’s been through a lot recently, after all._

_But, for final judgement, I defer to you. And her, of course. Again, trust your gut._

_Love,_

_A_

Sterling stares at her screen for a long time. Maybe too long. She gets up, does a lap around her room, making sure the door conjoining her room to Blair’s is shut. Then she sits back down at her desk. 

On an instinct she can’t quite process, she opens the third drawer of her desk and pulls out the old letter from five years ago. She smiles at the cursive in a simple blue ink, at the heart sticker still on the paper. 

_Trust your gut._

Her gut loves this worn piece of paper, these kind words that still affect her in a nothing else has managed to in the past five and a half years. But her gut also still feels on fire after this afternoon, a fire that is equally unmatched.

She reads the email again. 

_There can be something both cathartic and erotic about breaking that tension with someone you have a history with._

_Indulge._

For some reason (okay, for a very obvious reason), each time Sterling reads that phrase, she hears it in April’s voice, hears her over-enunciate the words _cathartic_ and _erotic,_ pictures her tongue pressing against her teeth as she says, ever so slowly, _indulge._

Sterling gets up again, dropping the letter onto her desk. This time she makes sure the door conjoining her room to Blair’s is _locked._

Twenty minutes later, breathing slightly heavily, she opens up her phone, types out a message, squeezes her eyes shut, and presses send.

**xviii. people can surprise you**

Fifteen minutes.

That’s what April decides is the correct amount of time to leave Sterling hanging. Not immediate, but not long enough that it’s clear April purposefully waited to respond. 

_What are you doing Friday after school?_ Stares up at her from her phone. It could be nothing, she tries to remind herself, could be that Sterling needs something from her for class, or wants to try to apologize again. 

But April has never fully believed in coincidences. She can still feel the ghost of Sterling’s mouth on hers from this afternoon, can still feel the way Sterling had breathed against her, had clutched her shirt. 

So maybe, _what are you doing Friday after school?_ is Sterling’s way of acklowdeging she felt it too. 

Sixteen minutes on the dot (because fifteen is far to precise), April texts back. 

_I had a few hours penciled in to ponder the futility of our place in the universe._

Sterling, it seems, has no sixteen minute rule. Her response is immediate. 

**_SW_** _**:** Funny. _   
**_SW_** _**:** I take that as no plans, then. _   
**_SW_** _**:** You should come over. _   
**_AS_** _**:** To your house? _   
**_SW_** _**:** The one and only. _   
**_AS_** _**:** To do what, exactly? _   
**_SW_** _**:** Call me crazy, but I think we could… not talk some more. _

Maybe it’s because April is a bad person, or maybe because part of her is still furious at Sterling for lying about her father, and that part hasn’t stopped is living and breathing even underneath this new burst of excitement and... lust. Or maybe it’s because she derives a specific kind of pleasure from teasing this specific person. Either way, she waits another sixteen minutes before replying. 

**_AS:_ ** _Okay._

The rest of the week passes with more anticipation than April would like to admit. She tells herself that she’s mostly looking forward to whatever gifts drag brunch will bring on Saturday, that’s all. But that doesn’t excuse the involuntary surge that goes through her whenever Sterling catches her eye in the hallway, then looks away with such a practiced casualness that makes April almost want to laugh. 

It almost reminds her of that week back in autumn, what feels like centuries ago at this point, with the glancing and the shared knowledge passing between them, but this time April isn’t kidding herself. This time April knows what she wants. This isn’t some romantic fantasy of a teenager, this is April understanding that she is simply a young adult with certain physical desires that so happen to be quelled by Sterling Wesley. 

Sure, Sterling is not the most convenient of people, and sure, physical desire doesn’t fully encapsulate the little swoop in her gut when Sterling smiles in that way where her eyes practically shine, but this whole situation is something she can control and understand. 

It had fully solidified when April had advised TS on the situation with her sister. This is not some grand decision that will have ramifications beyond what April can tell. This is simply a chance for her to have a little fun after a truly awful year of her life. She can work with that. 

So when Friday comes, and Sterling surreptitiously texts her, _do you remember my address_ during homeroom, April doesn’t respond, _being at that house used to be one of my favorite things in the world,_ or, _I still remember going over there months ago and it was the first time you really looked at me like I was someone to be wanted._

Instead she responds with a simple, _yes._

It’s almost surreal, knocking on Sterling’s front door like they are the kind of people who just go over to each other’s houses, giving her most polite greeting to Sterling’s parents. Except unlike when they were kids and April would relish in this family in a way that she now realizes had a lot to do with her own home life, now Sterling only gives a tertiary wave to her parents before immediately heading upstairs to her room, April in tow. April finds herself kind of impressed by Sterling’s straightforwardness about the whole thing. 

“Have fun, girls!” Mrs. Wesley calls after them, with an enthusiasm in her voice April is sure wouldn’t be present if she knew what exactly their definition of fun construed. 

“Yeah, I’m going on a run,” she hears Blair say, before she finds herself in Sterling’s room, Sterling purposefully clicking the lock behind them. 

April has a memory of when she was ten years old, going on an excursion to Target to buy a physical copy of _1989_ because Sterling wanted to hang the liner notes on her bedroom wall. It’s jarring seeing them now, still on the same wall six years later, joined by the four new albums that have come out since April was in here last. 

“Even _Reputation_?” April asks, tilting her head at the Taylor Swift collection, half of her mouth turning up against her will. “I thought you had more taste than that.”

Sterling laughs, and April has to actively try to not let herself be so affected by it.

“Why is everyone always down on _Reputation?_ It gets a-”

“If you say bad reputation, Sterl, I’m walking out that door.”

Sterling puts both her hands up in mock defense. “All I’m saying is it has some bangers. Getaway Car, come on, that slaps.”

April grins before she can help it. 

“Right, the song about her and Harry Styles hitting that guy with their car.”

Sterling lets out a startled laugh.

“That is not something I thought you’d know about.”

“People can surprise you, you know.”

“Oh yeah?”

Sterling smiles, leaning back on the corner of her bed, crossing her legs. April can’t not notice them, can’t not notice Sterling’s lack of subtlety about all of this, can’t help but be stupidly charmed by it all.

She steps forward, into Sterling’s personal space, watches the way Sterling's mouth opens a little, eyes taking in April, with no disguising the desire that’s underneath. It feels surreal still, even standing here in Sterling’s bedroom, that anyone would look at her like that.

When Sterling kisses her, it’s somehow even more surreal, but also the most tangible thing that April can imagine. She's is still angry at Sterling, somewhere deep inside of her, but she’s finding it harder and harder to feel it in this particular moment. Sterling is just so soft, gentle and intentional at the same time in a way that makes April unable to think, just clutch at Sterling’s waist to make sure they are as physically close as they can be. 

April had thought this would be catharsis, a way to get something that had been festering for far too long out of her system, but it’s slow and easy, neither of them moving further, just reveling in this specific moment. 

“Okay, love being surprised,” Sterling whispers against her mouth after a few minutes, out of breath and smiling, and April involuntarily feels her mouth smile back. 

“Just you wait,” she says before moving to kiss down the slope of Sterling’s neck. 

She grins when Sterling clutches her shoulder, when she hears Sterling’s heartbeat speed up against her lips. It just _works._ So much in April’s life feels fragile right now, but she knows that she loves _this_ , that she’s good at this, that maybe her purpose in life is getting a reaction out of Sterling Wesley.

“Sterling Wesley!”

They jump apart as Sterling’s dad’s voice carries up the stars. 

“Anderson, what?” Sterling snaps. 

April blinks. She’s never ever heard Sterling call her parents by their first names; it’s an odd shift from the simple affection she remembers from when they were kids. 

“Your mother just wants some help with the meal planning for this weekend,” Mr. Wesley calls. 

“April’s over, can we do this later?”

“You mother says-” he gives a loud sigh, “can you just come down here and talk to her?”

“Fine!”

Sterling rolls her eyes like she’s thirteen and April feels a stupid wave of fondness overcome her. It only gets worse when Sterling presses a quick but firm kiss to her mouth. 

“Don’t go anywhere,” she says, smiling so broadly that all April can do is simply nod. 

She sits in Sterling’s desk chair once Sterling leaves, absently fiddling with one of the pens. Sterling’s desk is messier than April would have thought, a slew of homework mixed in with a couple books, tangled cords not having an outlet. It makes April smile a little, before she catches herself. This is not about _feelings_ , damn it, this is about getting out sexual frustration. That's all.

April’s eyes land on a loose piece of paper that doesn't line up with the other contents of Sterling’s desk, something old and handwritten. April doesn't mean to look closer, but the handwriting kind of looks like _hers_ , from when she was a kid and self-righteously taught herself cursive. She wonders if she had ever passed a note to Sterling and maybe Sterling held onto it for all these years. Which would be stupid and sentimental and definitely does not make April smile to herself, alone in Sterling’s bedroom. 

She picks up the note, just to check, and feels her stomach plummet through the floor.

 _Dear TS,_ her own handwriting says, _I will admit that I did not expect to enjoy our correspondence so much-_

April forgets how to breathe.

No. Absolutely not. No fucking way. 

She blinks, prays the writing will disappear when her eyes open. It doesn’t. 

There is no way in heaven or hell that Sterling _fucking_ Wesley of all people could have been the person April’s been talking to all these years. That couldn’t - it would be too cruel. She knows she’s not perfect, but God wouldn’t really have the same person who has been constant and good and simple, be - be Sterling Wesley. 

She reads her own letter from over five years ago again, feels her eyes start to well up with something that might be tears and might be that inexplicable dread she’s felt more in the past year than she’s felt in her whole life: a gut-wrenching, heart-stopping, all-encompassing, _why me?_

“Are you okay?”

April turns to see Sterling standing in the doorway, concern painted on her face. April takes a deep breath, tries to will herself to stop feeling whatever she’s feeling. She watches in horror as Sterling’s eyes drop to the letter in April’s hand. 

“Why are you going through my stuff?” Sterling says, challenging. 

April can’t even focus on that. Her eyes flick back to the Taylor Swift wall. She sees the signed _TS_ in the corner of _1989_ and feels like she’s going to vomit. There’s an old One Direction poster next to it, sharpie hearts drawn around Zayn’s face. April drops her head between her knees. 

“Fuck,” she says out loud. 

“April.”

Sterling kneels down in front of her, so they are at eye level, looking at her with such concern and care that April thinks she might pass out. Of course the two most stupidly caring people she knows are one and the same. She feels the letter in her hand, clenches a fist around it. 

“What is this?” she says quietly, holding the letter in front of Sterling. Maybe - maybe there’s a chance it's all some colossal misunderstanding. 

Sterling’s brow furrows. “It’s from… an old friend, we wrote letters at camp and now still… she…” Sterling swallows. “She’s really important to me.”

“Good to know you don’t throw all old friends under the bus then,” April says automatically, unable to help herself. She knows that jealousy is inane - she can’t be jealous of herself, for Christ’s sake. But there’s something about the idea of Sterling only wanting to talk to April when she wasn’t _April_ , when she was just an anonymous person through a screen, that makes something dark and heavy slip into her. “Just me.” She unconsciously crumples up the paper. 

“Hey!” Sterling’s hand reaches out and grabs the letter from April. “That’s special.”

“Of course it is,” April sneers, because it's easier than crying. 

“Don’t,” Sterling says, low and hard, something new for her. “You can be mean to me all you want. I try and I try to apologize and to talk to you and I get it if you hate me. But don’t make fun of me for this.” Sterling smoothes out the letter, with such tenderness that April can’t breathe. “She’s - this person is special and kind and generous and understanding and you don’t get to come into my room and make fun of me for it. She’s - she’s nothing like you, April.”

It hits April directly in the chest. She can’t breathe for a moment. She wishes that a meteor would crash into Sterling Wesley’s overly cutesy bedroom. She wishes that six years ago, she never put her email address on the piece of paper now held firmly in Sterling’s hand.

She wishes it had just been anyone else. 

Something must show on her face, because Sterling's gaze softens for a second, grows regretful. 

“April I-”

“I have to go.”

The words are barely out of her mouth before she's fleeing Sterling’s room, feet hurriedly going down the stairs, her whole body needing nothing more than to get out.

“Aw, leaving so soon?” Sterling’s mom says as April barrels past her. And God, Sterling’s _mom_. Who isn’t Sterling’s mom, but is Sterling’s mom, and who had baked them cookies in the fourth grade, who had told her daughter that her pen pal who was having a hard time could stay with them if need be. 

“Sorry,” April blurts out, “I have to-”

She barely makes it out of the Wesley house before she has to bend over and catch her breath. She holds a hand on the wall to steady herself. She just has to make it to her car, to make it away from this house and then - then -

Then what? Then she will have to confront the fact that the person who had been her one source of comfort in the worst year of her life, not to mention all the years before, was also the person semi-responsible for all of that grief in the first place. Then she will have to look Sterling in the eye at school knowing that she knows every intimate secret that April has never shared with anyone else. 

“Are you okay?”

April turns to see Blair Wesley in full running paraphernalia approach where April is leaning on the side of the house. Perfect. 

“I think I’m having a panic attack,” April gets out, too honest, she can’t think coherently enough to lie.

“Okay,” Blair says, remarkably cool, “let’s breathe, okay?”

When April responded to Sterling’s blatant come hither text earlier this week, she definitely didn’t expect to find herself leaning on the side of the Wesley house as Blair rubs circles on her back and slowly talks her through her breathing until it's normal again. She offers April a water bottle from God knows where and April gratefully takes it. 

“You’re good at this,” she observes, once she feels vaguely like a person again. 

“It’s been an interesting few months,” Blair says casually, “therapy is good for the soul.”

April looks over at Blair, who is sitting on the driveway next to April, face calm and concerned. Blair Wesley of all people, who April now knows so much about, from her abhorrent taste in men in ninth grade to the way she held Sterling every night after the most traumatic event of her life, this nameless faceless sister she’s been told about for years, come to life.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Blair asks. 

April can only shake her head. “I really can’t.”

“Okay,” Blair says simply with a shrug. 

After a few more minutes of sitting there, drinking water and internally spiralling, April finally stands up. Blair’s up in a flash too, helping April to her feet, which April both resents and is grateful for. 

“Thank you,” she says shakily, “I should go, though. I need to - I should go. Tell your sister - never mind, don’t - she doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Okay?” Blair says again, this time more as a question.

April takes another shaky breath and turns around to finally leave, casting one last look at Blair. 

“You’re a really good sister, Blair.”

This, of all the things April has said in the last five minutes, seems to have some effect on Blair, whose eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the compliment. April doesn't give her time to respond, simply walks to her car and drives away. 

She makes it about a mile from the Wesley house before her phone buzzes in her back pocket. April knows what it is without even looking, but she can’t stop herself from pulling over on the side of the street to pull out her phone and open her email. 

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** hey

_Hey A,_

_I’ve been thinking a lot recently and I don’t want to keep ignoring what is happening between us. And I hope you don’t want to ignore it either._

_I know it’s been five and a half years at this point, but enough is enough. Let’s meet._

_Love,_

_TS_

April surprises herself but laughing. It’s just absurd. It’s all absurd. The person who told April minutes ago that she essentially wants nothing to do with her asking her if she wants to finally meet in person? It’s preposterous. So April laughs, alone in her car at the years of potential that now seem wasted. She laughs until she thinks she might be crying, but doesn’t have it in her to care. 

So she turns off her phone and drives home. 


	7. Chapter 7

**xix. robert and enrique part two**

April Stevens is not one to wallow. Never has been, never will be. 

She wakes up at six a.m. on Saturday. She immediately opens her phone, but only to at her calendar, steering clear of her email app. The only event of her day is at 11, giving her five hours to keep her mind occupied. 

She finishes all of her weekend homework by eight. After, she goes downstairs, drinks a cup of coffee and eats a banana to tide her over before brunch. Ever since the divorce proceedings have started, one of the cut costs is having someone to clean the house weekly, so April decides to vacuum, the loud noise keeping any unwanted thoughts far far away. 

When she jumps in the shower afterwards, she puts on music, mindless pop so loud that she can hear it over the water. It’s a crucial mistake though, because five minutes in, a Harry Styles song comes on and April has to leap out of the shower to pause it. She puts on a podcast after that, the specific analysis of Jeffrey Dahmer’s murders in no danger of bringing up anything adjacent to certain feelings about certain people. 

April takes her time choosing an outfit, something that one could wear on to a morning event at a gay bar but still could be passable in front of her mom. She smiles at herself in the mirror, letting herself feel the rush of excitement that she is actually going to a _gay_ _bar_. Out in the daylight.

It’s a dangerous path for her mind, though. Thinking of the encouragement she’d gotten for this meetup today, from whom she’d gotten the encouragement. 

_ She’s nothing like you, April. _

April shakes the thought from her head, checks her phone again for the time. 9:30. Damn it.

Which is how she finds herself with an hour to kill before drag brunch in Midtown Atlanta. April isn't the most familiar with this area of the city, especially this specific three block ratio, so she allows herself to wander. It’s a sunny spring morning, and outdoor dining takes over the few blocks near Piedmont Park, groups of friends in their twenties and thirties laughing over mimosas like the world is somehow a beautiful place. 

She passes by a building with red trim where the patrons are a little different than everyone she’s seen so far. Mainly in that they’re women. Gay women, if April was forced to judge, or at least gay-adjacent. Just eating brunch together. It shouldn’t make something inside her clench but it does. There just are so many couples who are so clearly _couples_ , laughing on a Saturday morning together. 

Before she can stop herself, her brain puts herself and Sterling at one of those tables, sharing a plate of overpriced pancakes, telling each other about their weeks, becoming those awful people who sit on the same side of the table. 

_ She’s nothing like you, April.  _

“Can I help you?” 

April’s shaken out of her thoughts by a hostess with a septum ring and a tattoo of a tree crawling up her left arm gazing at April inquisitively. 

“Sorry, no, just looking,” April says automatically. 

“At the menu?”

Right, that is what a person would be looking at at a restaurant. 

“Yes, sorry,” April says, putting on what she hopes is the voice of a polite young woman, “I’m actually meeting people at Blake’s later, I was just wandering.”

The hostess smiles. 

“Gotcha. Well, if you ever want something a little less basic white gay men for your brunch options, you know where we are.”

April laughs awkwardly. To say she’s a little out of her element would be a colossal understatement. 

“Thank you,” she says, before waving to the hostess and going on her way.

She knows, objectively, that that was a fairly normal social interaction, but she finds herself smiling for no good reason, alone on the sidewalk, heart beating faster than usual through her carefully picked out floral shirt. It’s the kind of flutter that makes her want to take out her phone and send something to TS.

_ I can’t believe I just saw a group of people doing something as simple as eating food on the weekend and am having an exceedingly emotional response, but God - to see lesbians having the time of their life just twenty minutes from where I have grown up so afraid of other people reacting to me - it’s something new.  _

But she can’t. She can’t write anything to TS because TS is Sterling and Sterling hates her and  _ she’s nothing like you, April, she’s nothing like you, April, she’s nothing like you, April.  _

She’s sweaty and overwhelmed by the time she shows up at the right restaurant to meet Robert and Enrique. It’s 10:53, which she thinks is perfectly socially acceptable. She’s not quite sure what the procedures are for this; so she pulls out her phone to text Robert she’s arrived.

“April?”

April turns around, for a second paralyzed that someone from school has seen her in this neighborhood, but when she turns around it’s definitely not anyone from school. 

It’s weird, really, to see someone she's only excessively online stalked in person. She doesn’t have time to revel in it though, because she’s suddenly being engulfed in a hug by what is presumably her cousin. 

“Easy, Bobby,” she hears, and then she’s being let go. 

“Sorry,” the man who she can safely assume is Robert (Bobby?) says, a light Georgia twang coming through, “I tend to be overly affectionate.”

“That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one,” his companion says. He’s a good deal taller than Bobby, sharper jaw, darker skin, but their smiles match as he holds a hand out to April. “I’m Enrique, lovely to meet you.”

April takes his hand. “April, hi.”

“Oh, I know, we’ve gone deep on your instagram.”

Bobby hits him lightly on the arm. “Enrique!”

“What? I’m starting this relationship with honesty.”

“He’s just excited to meet someone from my family, who's not, like, a raging bigot.”

“Hey, your mom wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“I’m going to need a drink if you bring up my mother again.”

“Well, good thing we’re at brunch, honey.”

April just looks between the two of them, the easy affection and teasing bouncing between them in a way it only can with two people who have a closeness that has spend years building up.

“Oh my god, April, I’m so sorry,” Bobby says, “we are out here gabbing on the sidewalk, let’s go in.”

April absently notes that the hostess at the lesbian bar was definitely right that this place is mostly for white gay men, but still, she can’t help but marvel at it, as they walk inside and through to the back, observing raucous groups of friends laughing and loudly cheering, servers in full drag joking with the customers, everything vibrant and fully colored and spilling over in a way that makes April unable to focus. 

They settle at a table in the back, and April watches the crowd, watches the two men she came here with, their smiles and laughter seemingly unburdened. They start with small talk at first, April doing her classic brag about school, noticing the way Bobby smiles at each of her accomplishments. 

“So, how are your parents?” he asks, once they’ve covered all the basics. 

April, a level of surreal giddiness combined with residual heartbreak making her unable to be anything but honest, lets out a laugh.

“Not great, Bob,” she says. 

Bobby laughs in return.

_ “ _ Are you making a reference to  _ Mad Men _ or are you butchering my name?”

“You watched  _ Mad Men _ ?”

“I’m a thirty-something white guy, of course I watched  _ Mad Men. _ Also, Jon Hamm? Come on.”

Before April can help herself, she says, “I’m personally more of a Christina Hendricks fan.”

Bobby and Enrique look at each other briefly, something passing between them. April swallows. She knows it’s not exactly an admission, but it invites a conversation that April had planned to bring up a little more intentionally.

“Good to know,” Enrique says simply with a smile, hand coming around Bobby’s shoulders.

“We love Christina,” Bobby supplies. 

Before it can go any further, a loud voice starts over the speakers, causing April to look toward the stage at the back of the bar. 

“Have you ever been to a drag show before?” Enrique asks, leaning over the table.

“I’m sure Bobby has told you about the community I was raised in.”

Enrique laughs. “Fair enough.” He reaches into his wallet then, and pulls out some singles. April eyes them with light confusion. “When she comes over here, just give them to her. It’ll be worth it, trust me.”

April just nods, taking the money without question. She looks to the stage, where a queen has emerged, bright red wig at least a foot and a half high, with a sparkling jumpsuit to match. Rihanna blares over the speakers, the queen opens her mouth and April knows, logistically, that she is not actually singing the words, but the way the music permeates the whole space and the way the queen’s body moves in time with it, make her think that maybe this is Rihanna, who happened to do a morning gig in Midtown Atlanta just to make April and all these gay men fall under her spell. 

The room is filled with screams, tone deaf repetitions of the lyrics, hands snapping and throwing money as the queen makes her way back to their table. Enrique gives April a wink and she holds out her measly three dollars during an instrumental break. 

“Thanks, doll,” the queen says in a rich Southern accent, before leaning down to plant a kiss on April’s cheek. 

The bar cheers, and April grins. She’s used to a certain degree of attention, loves nothing more than being up on a stage in front of her peers, but there’s a new level to this, the applause and shouts and music; something that April had kept under lock and key for so many years being loudly celebrated. 

“Good first time?” Enrique asks as the song ends. 

“Amazing,” April says breathlessly, watching a new queen queue up for her turn, sporting a blonde wig and a cowboy hat. She’s so caught up in that atmosphere that she doesn’t even have time to let that persistent nagging in the back of her brain get to her until - 

_ I remember when we broke up the first time... _

It’s cruel really, that one of the most popular recording artists in America for the last fifteen years also happens to have intensely personal ties to the one person that April is trying so desperately not to think about. All it takes is two bars of a stupid Taylor Swift song, and April’s thinking of every time she saw TS at the end of an email, thinking of Sterling’s bedroom wall, thinking of eagerly clicking into BuzzFeed quizzes, thinking  _ she’s nothing like you, April.  _

The queen in full 2012 Taylor drag gets to the chorus, the whole bar joining in for a rousing  _ we are never ever getting back together, _ and April suddenly has a lump in her throat, all the joy of the past few minutes sucked out of her. She is not going to cry in a gay bar to country-pop, she tells herself, but all she can think of is the way Sterling looked at her in that room when she saw her with that note, the steel in her eyes. 

_ She’s nothing like you - _

“April?”

April turns to see Bobby looking at her, concern painted in his eyes. April is struck by how much his eyes look like her mom’s, the same soft hazel, but there’s no layer of deep exhaustion in Bobby’s, just an earnestness that April isn’t sure she’s ever seen in someone related to her. 

“Are you okay?” He yells over the booming music.

“Honestly,” April says, swallowing, “I’m really not.”

After the performance ends, and the bar goes back to being filled with the sounds of laughing and eating rather than songs that trigger extreme emotion in April, she looks again in Bobby’s eyes. 

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he says, casually spearing a potato with his fork, “but just know you can.”

And honestly, the one person April wishes she could talk about all of this happens to be at the center of it. She swallows. Maybe this new person, with kind and familiar eyes, will do. 

“So there’s this girl,” April starts, “and we used to be best friends.”

By the time she’s done with the story, she has cleaned her plate, Bobby and Enrique have finished their pitcher of mimosas, and they have heard the musical stylings of Celine Dión, Destiny’s Child, and Megan Thee Stallion. 

Even though saying it all out loud is painful, April can’t help but revel in having a captive audience; Bobby audibly gasping when she gets to the part where Sterling kisses her the first time; Enrique clutching a hand to his heart when it turns out Sterling had a hand in her father’s arrest; both of them giving knowing smiles when April connects the dots between Sterling and the emails. 

It’s almost fun, in a way, even when she goes over the harder parts. She never thought she would be telling any of this to anyone, but now she has two people in her corner, hanging on every word, rooting for her. 

She’s not sure what she expects when she finishes, maybe a stunned silence, maybe a sympathetic smile. But it’s definitely not laughter. She looks on in surprise as Bobby’s shoulders start to shake, hand coming up over his mouth to hold it in. 

“I’m so sorry,” he gasps, holding up his other hand in apology, “it’s just, whew, when I was in high school, I was just closeted and sad and horny. I didn’t have a beautiful three-act romance playing out.”

“Weren’t you paying attention,” April snaps, though there isn’t too much bite to it; Bobby’s laughter is almost too contagious, “I  _ am  _ closeted and sad and horny.”

Bobby laughs again. “I know you are, sweetheart,” he says kindly, the term of endearment slipping so naturally from his lips that April almost misses it, “but you also are in love.”

April starts. “That’s a bold claim.”

“You’re overwhelming her, Bobby,” Enrique says fondly, before turning to April, “my husband has a flair for the dramatic.”

“It’s genetic,” April supplies.

“I’m not being dramatic!” Bobby says, dramatically, “I’m just saying. I know it’s still hard out there and I really don’t want to be one of those cliched ‘it gets better’ gays, but I remember being in high school, being surrounded by scripture and serious adults and just egregious heterosexuality, and there was no way in hell I knew enough about myself or about the world to fall in love. 

“I know this situation you’re in feels overwhelming and crazy, but the fact that you have opened yourself up like this is nothing short of amazing, and clearly this girl can see it. In two mediums! So I fully get the urge to beat up on yourself, but you can’t forget how fucking wonderful this is. How wonderful  _ you  _ are.”

April blinks, takes in a deep breath. She knows she’s supposed to say something here, but for some reason words aren’t coming.

“He fancies himself a gay mentor,” Enrique says with a laugh.

“Oh my god, I do not!”

“Please, Sam and Becca last year?”

“They just need a push!”

“Bobby…”

“Ugh, okay fine.”

“Thank you,” April cuts in, trying to understand this affection settling in her bones, “I think I’m just not used to this much positivity from someone related to me.”

They both stare at her for a second. Maybe she was too honest. 

“Well, that’s fucking depressing,” Enrique finally says, breaking the silence. 

April laughs at that, feeling lighter than she has in a long time. 

“He doesn’t get it,” Bobby says conspiratorially, “his family is almost too accepting. His tías threw me a bachelor party that was too gay even for me.”

“Oh you loved it!”

“Of course I loved it! Tía Julia has  _ stories.”  _ He grins at Enrique before turning back to April. 

“Is it okay?” April asks suddenly, “I mean, being cut off from so many people in your life?”

Bobby looks back at Enrique then over at April. 

“I don’t think of it that way. Well, I used to, but then therapy and a lot of queer friends and this one here helped. I didn’t cut anyone off, not really. If they couldn’t see how incredible I am, how incredible  _ we  _ are, then those aren’t people I need to spend my time thinking about.”

“So are you… are you happy, then?”

“Oh, honey.” Bobby puts his hand on the back of Enrique's neck, smooths his hair. “I have found the person, the people, in this world who fill my heart with joy. All the rest… it really doesn’t matter compared to that.”

He smiles widely, and April can’t breathe for a second.

When she gets home, April goes up to her room with single minded focus. She shuts her door and opens her laptop. She can see herself reflected on the screen of her computer, the smudged lipstick of the drag queen on her cheek, a manic smile threatening to take over her face. She almost doesn't recognize herself. 

When she logs into her email, she makes the choice to click the “stay signed in” button for the first time. She doesn’t click on the new email yet, just scrolls far back over the years. She lays back on her bed, computer on her chest. Her schedule for the afternoon is free, after all. 

So she scrolls, words she had read years ago, not knowing who they were about, coming back and hitting her right in the chest. 

_ Sometimes there are people who you thought you were your friends and then for no reason at all, they aren’t? Maybe some people are just mean, I don’t know.  _

_ There is no obligation for this girl to be mean to me, right? So there must be something about me that she can see that she just knows isn’t good enough. _

_ I don’t know why this girl at school has the power to make me feel so bad about myself, but she really does. You’re like the opposite of that, I guess.  _

April laughs at the sheer lunacy of the situation, unable to help herself, before she gets to a part in the conversations that make her chest seize up. 

_ Okay first off, don’t EVER think that I would stop talking to you for any reason. Especially not because you’re gay. You’re amazing, no matter what. This even makes you more amazing.  _

_ I know that someday, you are going to make some girl so happy. How could you not? You make me happy whenever I get an email from you and I’m just your pen pal. Someone out there is the luckiest girl in the world and she doesn’t even know it yet.  _

April wonders if Sterling would have written those words if she knew they were about April, wonders if her encouragement over the years would have been less so, doubt in her stomach threatening to take over.

But then - then -

_ There’s this girl. Oh my god, A, this GIRL. I’ve known her forever, but the other day something just clicked and I can’t stop thinking about her in a very non-platonic way. I think she is more exciting and invigorating and hotter than anyone I’ve met.  _

_I’ve never really WANTED_ _anyone like this and it’s new and weird and nothing I’ve ever experienced before but also EXHILARATING._

_Did it feel like this for you the first time you kissed a girl? Like you want to always be around her and every second you’re not with her you’re thinking about her. It’s new, it’s so new, but I can’t stop thinking about all the ways this could go, all the days and nights I want to spend with her. She’s someone I think I could talk to every minute of every day and never be bored. And I don’t know, we haven’t really talked about what we are specifically, but I’m so fucking excited for whatever that is._

_ I’m sure I sound so lame, but you know what? I’m leaning into it. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before and it feels so GOOD. I don’t think my gut would lead me wrong. _

April has been uncharacteristically emotional all day, but reading those words finally breaks the dam. So she cries at a computer screen, about something that she’d forced herself to forget for months, so clearly spelled out in front of her. That, under all of it, there is something real and strong and joyous that was never one-sided. 

(The part of her mind that isn’t busy being far too emotional notes the sheer idiocy of not piecing it together earlier, based on the timestamps of those emails alone.)

April allows herself to sit in it for a moment. She knows that when she keeps scrolling, she will find more of Sterling talking about her “ex,” of April unknowingly dragging herself through the mud, more moments of crying and fights and both of them reaching out to each other despite it all. She’ll get there. But for now, she lets that giddiness of discovery from the first time Sterling had kissed her wash back over her. 

April stays staring at her computer for a long time, until her tears have dried and she needs to plug in her laptop. Then she opens the most recent email, takes a deep breath and presses reply. 

**xx. she’s more of a one direction kind of person**

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
**To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
**Subject:** Re: hey

_ Hi TS, _

_ Sorry it took a while for me to respond, it’s been a crazy weekend. (Drag brunch is a transcendent experience, it turns out.) _

_ For the sake of honesty - and trust me when I say the thing I want least of all is to be dishonest - no, I do not want to ignore the unspoken thing that is happening between us either.  _

_ And yet, again for the sake of honesty, I don’t think I’m quite ready yet to meet in person. Yes, five years and eight months (but who’s counting?) is an incredibly long time to talk to someone without knowing who they are. But I ask that you could hold out just a little longer. _

_ In the past year, so much has happened in my life, that I think I just need a minute to breathe, to catch up. It’s selfish, I know, but you have spent half a decade indulging my selfish urges, so I hope you allow me this one more. Trust me, there is nothing I want more than to see you in person, both of us fully knowing who the other is. That just can’t be right now, just yet. I hope you’ll understand. You always seem to.  _

_ Love,  _

_ A _

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
**To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
**Subject:** Re: hey

_ Oh my god, it is so fine to ask for more time. I always do this, try to rush things when they’re good, when it should be a conversation with the other person. I just get excited! And, to match your honesty, you make me excited. So, please take all the time, I know we’ve both been through some heavy shit this year. I’ll be around! _

_ You are, however, contractually obligated to tell me about Drag Brunch.  _

_ Love,  _

_ TS _

Over the next several weeks, Sterling falls into a routine. It’s odd, really, how consistency finds her so easily after what feels like months of drastic shift after drastic shift in her life. She finds herself reveling in small things; in customerless afternoons in the yogurt shop watching Blair annoy Bowser about work; how, when spring starts to bloom, their parents insist on family activities at the urging of their therapist, which mostly involve Blair and Anderson doing something active while Sterling and Debbie sit back and watch. Even school becomes something kind of fun again, the academic rigor of the second semester of junior year fully kicking in, with its SAT prep and mountains of homework, leaving no room for other thoughts. 

Well, almost no room.

The one worry about school, about it all, even seems to be a non-issue. Sterling has to actively hype herself up for the first debate practice after the incident in her bedroom, unprepared if she’ll get the April that sneered and yelled in her face after finding out about A, or the April with a fear in her eyes that made Sterling want to reach out and hold her, or, perhaps the most terrifying, if she’ll get the April who pushes her against desks and kisses her. 

However, it seems that she gets none of those Aprils. When she walks into practice, she sees April perched on a desk, talking to Draven of all people.

“Have you gotten to the Dahmer episodes?” she’s asking, seemingly genuinely interested.

Draven shakes his head. 

“Still on Richard Speck.”

“Oh, that’s a good one.”

Draven smiles. “The things he did to those nurses.”

April echoes his smile. “Absolutely twisted. Just wait till Dahmer, though. It’s a real treat.”

Sterling isn’t sure what is going on. Her confusion must translate to staring though, because both Draven and April turn to her. 

“Do you listen?” he asks, flashing his phone which appears to be playing one of those murder-y podcasts.

“Oh, definitely not,” Sterling says, “that stuff icks me out.”

“She’s more of a One Direction kind of person,” April tells Draven conspiratorially. 

Which is, like, objectively true, but still Sterling feels like she’s being unfairly ganged up on. And she didn’t even know that April remembered her 1D phase from back in fifth grade. 

She’s about to say something defensive, a familiar churning in her gut that only April Stevens can bring about, but then April smiles at her. It’s not the smile she was expecting, that particular April smirk when she is victorious. Instead it’s a different, rarer one, that Sterling had gotten addicted to that week they were hooking up, a full toothed grin that invites others to be in on the joke. It renders Sterling speechless for a second. 

“Oh, by the way, Sterling,” April says, during that second, “I talked to Coach Esposito earlier and I think you’re right.”

Sterling blinks. “I am?”

“About the morale boosting. It was a good idea.”

“Oh. Thanks. Cool.”

April shrugs, before turning back to Draven with a, “thoughts on the Andrew Cunanan episodes? I find his psychology absolutely fascinating.”

Sterling just stares, wondering what the hell happened between April storming out of her house April being so casually and effortlessly pleasant. It’s unsettling, to say the least, and the most unsettling thing is it just  _ keeps happening.  _ Over the next few weeks, April never really goes out of her way to talk to Sterling, but when they happen to be in the same conversation or interaction, April is so agreeable and reasonable that Sterling isn’t sure what’s happening. 

“It’s just weird!” She says to Blair one afternoon as they get paid to lounge around the yogurt shop. 

“Didn’t you say that your whole thing was going to be ignoring April Stevens?”

“Right, yes.”

“You’re doing a really great.”

“Shut up.” Sterling pauses, knows she should drop it. “But it’s weird that she’s being nice to me, right?”

Blair stops from where she’d been organizing the condiments by color and turns to look at Sterling, almost thoughtfully.

“I don’t know, Sterl, maybe there’s more to her than what’s just on the surface.”

Sterling blinks. It’s not what she would expect coming from Blair of all people, but Blair just shrugs and goes back to the condiments. 

“Maybe,” Sterling echoes, more confused than when she started this conversation.

**_TS:_ ** _ Do you think people can really change? _  
**_A:_ ** _ That’s a big question for one a.m. on a Tuesday night. _  
**_TS:_ ** _ Well, you’re up and responding. _  
**_A:_ ** _ Damn, bitch, drag me. _  
**_TS:_ ** _ Excuse me? _  
**_A:_ ** _ Oh God, sorry, I’ve been in a group chat with my cousin and his husband, and now I type like a 30-something gay man. _  
**_TS:_ ** _ Wow, I love it. _  
**_A:_ ** _ Thank you. It’s new. Anyway, I think it’s complicated.  _  
**_TS:_ ** _ What is? _  
**_A:_ ** _ If people can change. I don’t think new parts of a person can grow overnight, and there are certain people so stuck in their ways that nothing will ever change them.  _  
**_TS:_ ** _ That’s bleak.  _  
**_A:_ ** _ Patience, TS. That being said, I think that everyone is composed of so many different parts and it only makes sense for those parts to ebb and flow in their quantities over the years. I think certain events, even certain people, can make one realize new things about the world, about themselves. Maybe they choose to share new parts of themselves that have always been there, but just haven’t been seen yet. _  
**_TS:_ ** _ Wow. _  
**_A:_ ** _ What? _  
**_TS:_ ** _ You’re just really incredible, you know that, right? _  
**_A:_ ** _ I’m trying to.  _

On a sunny afternoon in mid-April, Blair decides that their family needs to do something outdoors for their weekly mandated family time. 

“I am not a person who kayaks,” Sterling protests as she piles into the car, but there’s no force behind her words, “I don’t know if you remember summer camp, but that was all you.”

“Sterl, what _did_ you end up doing most summers?” Anderson asks, teasing. 

“She wrote letters,” Blair says with an evil grin. Sterling flips her off. 

When they get to the river, Sterling watches with amusement and fondness as Blair’s eyes grow wide, and her and Anderson select the shiniest reddest kayak immediately. 

“All right, how about y’all two pair off and Sterling and I pair off,” Debbie says cheerfully. 

Blair shoots her a look, still cautious, months later. Sterling just nods. 

Debbie leans a little closer to Sterling. “Can we just get coffee while they do this?”

“God, yes.”

“I have never understood the need to spend money to be sweaty and exhausted,” Debbie says, as they nurse two equally overpriced and extravagant drinks on a bench along the river. 

“Totally,” Sterling agrees.

The sun is warm on her face, and the sugar hits her bloodstream, and it makes Sterling feel at ease. It’s only been recently that her and Debbie have been alone without a buffer, and Sterling is trying to teach herself to be okay with long periods of time where no one talks, something she’s been working on in therapy. Still, she’s a little relieved when her phone buzzing breaks the silence.

She can’t help but grin when she sees it’s an email from A.

“Who’s that?” Debbie asks, a little smile forming on her face.

Sterling quickly locks her phone, aware her face is growing a little warmer, and she can’t fully blame the sun for that.

“No one!”

“Well,” Debbie says, light and teasing, “this ‘no one’ sure has you smiling at your phone.”

Sterling shrugs, but knows she’s not passing for casual in any world. Debbie nudges Sterling’s shoulder with her own. 

“It’s nice to see, is all, you smiling. It’s one of my favorite things in the world, you know.”

Sterling swallows back the something that has formed rapidly in her throat. She takes a sip of her coffee, if it can be called that at this point, tightens her grip at her phone in her other hand. Debbie is still looking at her, the same warm eyes that Sterling has stared at for sixteen years. 

“Do you remember,” Sterling asks suddenly, “a couple years ago, I asked if a friend could stay with us who was having a hard time at home?”

Debbie nods. “Some girl from camp, right? Are y’all two still in touch?”

“Yeah, we’ve been talking for years. She actually - ” Sterling breathes slowly in through her nose like she practiced, “she’s actually the one who has me smiling at my phone.”

Debbie’s eyebrows raise minutely. She takes a sip of her coffee. It probably takes about five seconds, but the moment stretches out for years as Sterling's heartbeat pounds in her ears.

“Well, who is she?” Debbie finally asks. 

“What do you mean?” Sterling can hear the uncertainty in her own voice. 

Debbie leans further into Sterling, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. 

“Well, if some girl has got my daughter all smiley, I would like to know her name, if that’s not too much to ask.”

Sterling laughs, relief washing through her, the knot in her stomach decreasing. She leans into her mom's shoulder, the warmth of Debbie’s arm and the smell of the perfume she’s had since Sterling was a kid washing over her, creating such an innate sense of comfort that Sterling feels a prick of a tear behind her eye. 

“I would too, Mom, trust me,” she says, with an unburdened giggle. 

Debbie smiles down at her, and Sterling smiles back, leaning further into her, letting herself soak in the unabashed ease of her mother for the first time in months. 

Then, something in Debbie shifts, her eyebrows furrow. 

“Hold on just one minute, you don’t know this girl’s name?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by me missing live drag so much that I project it onto a fictional lesbian, oops. Also I did some research (aka texted the one (1) gay I know who lives in Atlanta) and all the places mentioned here are real! The lesbian bar is called [My Sisters Room](https://www.mysistersroom.com/) and if anyone reading this just so happens to live in the area and wants to grab some takeout from them, y'all should! Queer spaces, especially for queer women are becoming rarer and rarer ~in this climate~ so if you could support, that would be dope! Okay I'm done being preachy for now, thanks for reading pals!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's a long one, fellas! Sorry, I am just a slut for the third and final act of a romcom, so I am dragging her OUT! Hope y'all have fun :)

**xxi. fucking debate tournaments**

**_TS:_ ** _I told my mom about us._  
 **_A:_ ** _Us?_  
 **_TS:_ ** _Oh my god I didn’t mean -_  
 **_TS:_ ** _I’m not like implying there is an US or anything._  
 **_TS:_ ** _I just told my mom that I like you._  
 **_TS:_ ** _Like, like, you._  
 **_TS:_ ** _Oh jeez, I sound like I’m 12._  
 **_TS:_ ** _Please respond, I’m dying here._  
 **_A:_ ** _Sorry, it was too fun to leave you hanging,_  
 **_TS:_ ** _You are cruel._  
 **_A:_ ** _Ah, but you like, like, me._  
 **_TS:_ ** _You got me there._  
 **_A:_ ** _Wait, you told your mom?_  
 **_TS:_ ** _Yes! That was the whole point!_  
 **_A:_ ** _Did you happen to include my gender?_  
 **_TS:_ ** _Yup!_  
 **_A:_ ** _And she was okay with it?_  
 **_TS:_ ** _Yeah! Yes! The girl thing was, like, shockingly chill for her. And she is not a chill lady, you know her past, but she’s always been good with this stuff. Mom stuff, I guess. She’s a good mom, even if she’s not..._  
 **_TS:_ ** _She’s a good mom._  
 **_A:_ ** _You’re lucky to have her._  
 **_A:_ ** _I mean I know there’s a lot of complicated baggage there, but what I wouldn’t give…_  
 **_TS:_ ** _I know. I’m sorry, A._  
 **_A:_ ** _It’s okay. I mean it’s not, but you shouldn’t apologize for having good things. You deserve all the good things in the world._

April is pretty sure she might fully qualify as a bad person. Like, she might as well start preparing to spend eternity with Lucifer after she leaves this mortal coil at this point.

There was a very brief moment, when she was 13 and first noticed the way a girl’s back looks when it moves to a certain song, where she had wondered if maybe that observation would lead her on a path toward hell. It didn’t take her long to realize that was absolute bullshit; she really should have been worrying about the moral grey-area of flirting with a girl on the internet, when you are fully aware of the other girl’s identity, but the reverse is not true. 

April had a plan. No, she still has a plan. For seventeen years now, April has been very good at sticking to a plan. She had told herself, had convinced herself, she wouldn’t be too overly flirtatious or amorous in their online correspondence. It’s not fair to Sterling, it’s not fair to herself, to keep up these two personas without telling her. 

But no amount of foresight could have prepared herself for what happened in her chest when Sterling said something as genuine and ridiculous as _like, like,_ causing April’s fingers to type like she doesn’t know things she shouldn’t, like she is in the same boat as Sterling, just another teenger with a simple infatuation.

So maybe she is a bad person. But It’s addictive, to know that Sterling is the person saying wonderful things to her, to know that she means them, even if Sterling in real life still looks at her like she might explode at any minute. 

April knows she has fences to mend, that at some point she will have to get actually concrete real life Sterling not hate her. But in the meantime, she indulges just a little bit. 

She also gets very good at distracting herself. She throws herself into school work, practice SAT tests, constantly updating her spreadsheet on colleges to apply to next year. On a whim, she signs up to be a counselor at the summer camp she used to go to, enamored by the idea of weeks away from home, surrounded by people who know nothing about her or her family.

She convinces her mom to let her come to the meetings with the lawyers and financial advisers when it comes to official divorce proceedings, dividing up Daddy’s money. She combs over the documents, making sure they aren’t missing any information and, to quote Brenda the divorce lawyer, “get him for everything that he’s worth.”

“You’re freakishly good at this,” Brenda tells April, after one of their afternoon sessions, “have you thought about law school?”

“I’m planning on graduating high school first,” April says, trying not to let it show how much the praise gets to her, “but I’m looking to keep my options open.”

“You have my number,” Brenda says, “if you ever want to suck more guys like your dad dry. It’s pretty satisfying. And pays well.”

April laughs. “Noted.”

After that meeting, on the car ride back, still high off of recognition of her talents and the legalities of ridding her life of her father, April works up the nerve to casually broach a subject with her mom that she’d been putting off. 

“So,” she says, trying not to sound too rehearsed, “I’ve recently been talking to your cousin Robert.”

She sees both a familiarity and confusion in her mom’s face. 

“Bobby? How did that happen?”

“I just - we found each other on social media and have a lot of similar interests. Prestige dramas of the mid-aughts. Musicals. Business.” Being raging homosexuals. 

Melanie looks over to April, with a knowing in her eyes that makes April want to sink through the seat. 

“I see what’s happening here.”

“You do?”

“It’s okay, honey. Now that your Daddy isn’t around, it makes sense to reach out to a older male in your life.”

April tries really hard not to laugh, even as relief floods her body. 

“Yep,” she says, “I’m just desperate for a father figure.”

“I know, hun.”

“So, would it be okay if he came over for dinner next time he’s in town?” April takes a breath. “Him and his husband?”

April carefully watches Melanie’s face, the purposeful way she keeps it even for several seconds before slowly saying, “that would be just fine.”

April breathes out. 

It’s surreal, when the day comes, to see Bobby and Enrique outside the house she grew up in, outside the house her father lived in. They’ve both dressed up a little for the occasion, Bobby holding a bouquet of flowers. 

“Isn’t that a bit overkill?” April says, eyeing them. 

“I’m a polite young man,” Bobby says, in fake outrage, “isn’t that right, Mel?”

April turns to see her mom standing behind her in the doorway. Before she knows what’s happening, Bobby is coming inside and hugging her mother. April just stands there, watching in shock as her mom laughs in delight, something April hasn’t seen in months, maybe ever.

Bobby introduces her to Enrique, and April just stares as Melanie takes Enrique’s hand, asking all the typical questions about what Enrique does and how he likes Atlanta on their visits. April notices her glance at where Enrique’s hand rests on Bobby’s back, but it’s not with any of the fear or disdain that April had prepared herself for. It's more akin to the way Melanie looks at a new recipe, when she doesn't quite know how it will all come together. A curiosity, an intrigue, but nothing to be disdainful of.

April doesn't quite believe it’s happening. It’s not even just the shocking lack of homophobia; it’s like something has been lifted off of Melanie’s shoulders; April doesn’t remember the last time her mom laughed like this, the last time she didn’t seem like she was looking over her shoulder for someone. 

April swallows suddenly, overcome with how much things have changed in the past six months, how the woman she’d known for sixteen years looks brighter now than that whole time April was growing up. 

Dinner goes remarkably well, April finding herself in the rare situation of being the quiet one in the conversation. She sits back and observes the way her mom and Bobby naturally fall into a rhythm, old inside jokes resurfacing. 

“I think,” Enrique says, leaning over to whisper to April, “they both missed having someone in their family to talk to like this, but didn’t want to admit it.”

April just nods, unable to speak for the moment.

Her and Bobby tag team the dishes after dinner and April can’t stop smiling. 

Bobby looks behind them, making sure the kitchen is clear before asking, sotto voice, “so have you told your little Meg Ryan yet?” 

“Who’s Meg Ryan?”

Bobby gasps, hand coming up to clutch his chest. 

“Who raised you with such a lack of culture?”

She narrows her eyes at him. “You know exactly who raised me.”

“Fair point.”

He cracks a grin then, and she finds herself grinning back. She didn’t think she would ever get here, almost laughing at the idea of her father, but it’s somehow easy right now, in this kitchen, to let amusement mingle with the still present anger that has been in her gut for the past several months. Not replacing it, just joining it. 

“Anyway,” Bobby says, “your little internet girlfriend? Have you told her yet?”

“She’s not my- ” She smacks him with a dish towel, but he just smiles overly sweetly at her until she finally says, “no, I haven’t.”

He shakes his head. “If you think I won’t text you every single day to see if you’ve told her yet, you’ve got another thing coming.”

And he does. Every day around noon-ish when Bobby apparently takes his lunch break, April gets a concise _have you told her yet?_

She always texts back a simple _no,_ accompanied by a heart.

“Told who what?” Ezekiel asks, one day at lunch, leaning over her shoulder. 

April immediately locks her phone. 

“Nothing. No one. Don’t look at my texts.”

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all, “you know I’m just a slut for drama.”

“If any drama comes up, you’ll be the first to know,” April lies.

She wonders if Ezekiel would technically qualify it as drama that April’s stomach does fifty flips whenever she has to be in the same room as Sterling, which is obnoxiously often these days, given that April has joined Coach Esposito in his conviction that Forensics really does need to get past a quarterfinal this semester. And if that means more face to face time with Sterling, tne so be it. April can do that, she’s a fucking adult. Well, she’s close, at least. 

The day before the first quarterfinals, April lingers after practice, making sure she has the proper materials all in her bag, nothing left in the classroom. The tournament is out in Decatur, so there is no leaving anything up to fate. 

She notices Sterling staying late too. She wants to tell herself it’s due to her captain-ly powers of observation, but she is done kidding herself, it is definitely due to her Sterling-ly powers of observation. 

“Did you need something?” she asks Sterling abruptly. As soon as the words leave her mouth, she knows they are harsh. Sterling does too, apparently, flinching a little. 

The aloofness that Sterling had been projecting before they sloppily made out in this very classroom has all but disappeared, which April would have taken some satisfaction in, in a previous life; in a life where she didn’t unknowingly give the very advice to Sterling to exhibit said aloofness. Christ. 

“I’m good,” Sterling says quickly, “I just need to talk to Coach Esposito about a ride for the tournament.”

“A ride?”

“Yeah.” Sterling lets out a long sigh. “My parents insist on coming tomorrow because they’ve been really into family bonding lately-”

Which April knows. April knows that they’ve been into family bonding, April knows why, April knows that Sterling loves family bonding, loves the way her mom is trying so hard, despite everything. 

“So they want to drive to Decatur,” Sterling continues, unaware of the turmoil in April’s head, “but I have to get there two hours early and Blair thinks it would be bad for the environment if we took two cars, so Mom was like, why don’t you just get a ride from someone on the team, but this was all this morning, so now I’m just-”

“I can give you a ride,” April interrupts quickly.

“What?”

“Tomorrow morning. If it makes it easier on… whatever your carpool situation is.”

Sterling looks at April like she’s trying to figure her out. April rolls her eyes, purposefully dramatically.

“Don’t worry, Wesley, I’m not going to run you over.”

Sterling still looks doubtful.

“At least not till we get to semifinals,” she adds. 

This, of all things, gets a small laugh out of Sterling, the familiarity of it all, April supposes. 

“Okay,” Sterling says, “thank you, Aprill, that’s really - thanks. I can text you my - well, you obviously know where I live.”

“Obviously.” 

Sterling still has some sort of nervous energy, which is unnerving, to say the least. April is the one who should be nervous in this situation.

“Don’t have an aneurysm before we even get there,” she says, “I don’t bite.”

“Well, that’s not technically true,” Sterling says, quickly glancing at Coach Esposito’s desk, before her eyes go wide when she realizes what she said. 

So maybe Sterling doesn’t hate her.

Any time there is an opportunity for her to shine in an academic or performance related setting, April puts a little more effort than usual into her appearance. Everyone does, she’s pretty sure. Maybe waking up at six in the morning before she has to be over to pick up Sterling from her house at eight is a little ridiculous, especially when she’s just wearing her uniform, but it’s all in the name of preparedness. So what if she brushes her hair until it shines, experty implies slightly more than usual make-up, it’s just for sake of competition. That's all. 

It’s definitely not for the way that, when Sterling slides into the passenger’s seat of her car, she looks at April with a measured casualness and says, “you look nice.”

“Thanks,” April says quickly, “you do too.”

“Thanks.”

The thing is, between the being best friends and then the being sworn enemies and then the secretively making out and then the being sworn enemies again and then the brief making out once more whilst still kind of in the enemies phase, it has somehow never been _awkward_. There’s always been too much energy hanging between them for that, but now, as the early morning fog lifts, April drums her fingertips against the steering wheel, for some reason unsure of what she can say. 

There are so many conversations swirling in her head, from different versions of herself and different versions of Sterling. She wants to tell her about how Enrique knows someone at Equality Georgia and promised to introduce her; she wants to ask about how the rock climbing was last week that Sterling was dragged to against her will. Hell, she’ll even settle for a conspiracy theory about One Direction at this point. 

For an instant, she thinks about what would happen if right here, in a moving vehicle, she said, “oh hey, by the way, we’ve been secretly talking for six years, and the other day you said you _like, like,_ me and it made me want to cry and laugh at the same time.” 

She’s pretty sure Sterling would open the passengers seat and just roll right out of there. So she just drives. 

It's not surprising when Sterling is the one to break the silence, but it is suprising that its with something as drastic as, “So I told my mom that I’m bi.”

April’s shock is genuine, even though she had been informed that quite recently. 

“Oh,” she says lamely. “Wow. That’s - wow. Good - wow.”

“You better sharpen up those oratory skills before we go into the tournament,” Sterling jokes. 

April laughs a little, because she can’t help herself. She’s _charmed_.

“Sorry.” She wishes she could turn and look at Sterling instead of the road. “Was your mom… was she cool with it?”

“Yeah,” Sterling says, voice full with her smile, “she really was.”

April knew that of course, but hearing it in person makes the same surge of visceral jealousy combined with joy for Sterling somehow stronger. 

“That’s amazing,” she says, a little hoarsely, “that’s really amazing.”

“Yeah.” There’s still that undeniable warmth in Sterling’s voice. “I’m really lucky. To have my family.”

“Your family,” April repeats, a pride involuntarily surging through her at all that Sterling has overcome. 

Sterling, bless her heart, woefully misinterprets that.

“Sorry, God, if that sounded gloaty or whatever-”

“Sterling.” 

April really does not need to have this conversation twice even if Sterling doesn’t know it’s twice. She moves her hand to shut Sterling up, but because of the whole being in the car thing, her hand lands on Sterling’s upper thigh. Sterling just stares at it before April quickly moves it away, though she still feels the heat after the contact is gone. 

“Please don’t apologize for having a family that loves and accepts you. I wish - every family should be like that.” She clutches the steering wheel tighter. “I know I’ve said some, well I’ve said a lot of things since last fall, and I don’t - shit, that’s our exit.”

April’s palms are sweaty on the steering wheel as she pulls off into the parking lot. She takes a small breath in before turning to look at Sterling. 

“I feel like you were in the middle of saying something important,” Sterling says, direct eye contact making April swallow a little. 

“Was I?” April makes a show of tilting her head to the side. “Can’t recall.”

Sterling laughs a little, hits her lightly on the arm. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging.”

April takes a deep breath. “I don’t want you to think that, even after everything I’ve said to you over the course of the last few months, or God, the last six years, that I don’t want anything except your complete happiness.”

Sterling looks stunned, speechless almost, which, in all honesty, is a little thrilling. April would take more time to revel in it, if her stomach wasn’t doing crazy circles at the moment. 

“Wow,” Sterling says, “thank you - that’s - wow. And, um, same, of course. Likewise. I’m sorry that I - I’m also - you should be happy too. Like, definitely, obviously, uh - ”

“Look who's oratory skills need sharpening now,” April teases. 

Sterling laughs, a warm, loud thing that makes April’s lips curve into a smile involuntarily. 

“You got me,” she says, hands up. 

“God help us if we have to rely on Draven and the other two to win this thing.”

“Oh come on, April, you know their names.” 

“I’ll know their names if they make it past the first round.”

Sterling laughs again, and April feels herself laughing back, the air of uncomfortability in the car fully forgotten. And God, even with her brain unable to stop spinning in a thousand directions about this girl, April knows in her gut how much she missed this. In a move she did not plan or anticipate, she finds herself holding out a hand.

“Friends?” She offers, “we’ve gone through everything else by now.”

Sterling looks at her hand for a moment, before smiling and clasping it. 

“That’d be nice.” She grins, and April finds herself echoing it, the warmth in her chest maybe not the most friendship like.

“Though,” Sterling adds, “us being friends is _so_ 2015.” 

April can’t help herself but laugh, throwing her head back. It’s not until she looks back at Sterling that she realizes Sterling is staring at her, mouth slightly open, hand still clasped in April’s. Sterling looks down their hands and then drops it. 

“We should probably get in there,” April says. 

“Right,” Sterling says quickly, before clearing her throat and muttering something that sounds like, “fucking debate tournaments.”

Weird. 

There was a part of April that had feared that the drive over, this whole conversation, the innate Sterling Wesley of it all, would cause her to be distracted from the tournament, but surprisingly, it adds to her focus. It helps that the topic is euthanasia, something April could debate in her sleep at this point, both pro and con sliding off her tongue with an ease she hasn’t felt since before everything went down with her dad. 

After the third round, Sterling finds her, in a very classic Sterling panic that April should not find so endearing. Not when she’s completing. 

“April I’m so sorry,” Sterling is effusing, “I was trying to go for my closing arguments, but then I overheard my mom whisper to Blair that she can’t wait until my dad’s parents are old enough to euthanize them and it kind of threw me off my game because, like, who says that? In public? I swear, I told them not to come, and I’m really sorry-”

“Sterling.” April cuts her off, trying not to laugh. Not that it’s funny, Sterling is the second best thing Willingham has, losing her should be a blow, not funny. But, still, a sort of fond amusement settles in April’s bones. “Don’t worry about it.”

“What - really?”

“I think I’ve got this one.” A small part of her is tempted to wink at Sterling, but April is not a person who winks, so instead she just channels this combined energy of winning three rounds in a row and Sterling not hating her and flashes Sterling a confident smile. 

If she’s not mistaken, she feels Sterling’s eyes on her long after she walks away. And that feels almost better than winning. 

Almost.

There is something so specific that rises in her chest when she gets assigned pro-euthanasia in the final round, smirking at Craig Wu and then proceeding to murder him in a way that she's pretty sure makes him wish he was euthanized himself. It would be less humiliating. It’s rare that karma is something that works in April’s favor, but God, it feels good when it does. 

When it’s called, she notices three things - the way Coach Esposito gives an unsubtle middle finger to Decatur’s debate coach; the way that the applause isn’t even just from the handful of students and parents from Willingham, it fills the whole room. And then she notices how Sterling looks at her, the way that she looked in Coach Esposito’s classroom weeks ago now, like April is something to be eaten whole. 

It’s the best day April remembers having in a long time. 

So it’s surprising to her when, a few short weeks later, she ends up having an even better one. The day before she’s due to take the SATs for the first time (only imbeciles plan on taking the test once), she gets a call from her mom during lunch. 

“Is everything okay?” April immediately asks, picking up on the first ring. Her mom never calls her. They have a relationship firmly and comfortably based on texting. 

“Everything’s great, honey,” Melanie says over the phone. She sounds almost breathless.

“So, why are you calling me in the middle of the day?”

“I just - can you just meet me at Brenda’s office after school today? It’s - well, I want to tell you in person.”

April swallows. She tries not to think too hard about what it is. Probably a higher figure for child support, maybe he finally signed the papers, but it could just be something else, something worse, some way in which he could have fought back. 

She speeds to Brenda’s office when school’s over, heart pounding in her fingertips, not even daring to hope - 

“It’s over,” Brenda announces, beaming, when April comes in, “he agreed to our terms.”

April looks to her mom, who looks like she’s been crying. 

“He did?” April whispers. 

Melanie nods. 

“Holy shit,” April murmurs, and she knows it’s serious because her mom doesn’t even reprimand her for swearing, “so the restraining order, the child support, he’s… it’s happening?”

Brenda slides a paper over her desk and April reads it with blurred eyes, sees her dad’s signature in bold black ink. She remembers him once saying that his “John” put Hancock to shame, and now that bold confident "J" says she never has to see him again. 

“Oh my God,” she breathes, looking down at her mom’s smaller, but somehow just as confident signature. “Oh my God.”

She doesn’t know when she started crying, but she must have, because Brenda is handing her a tissue and her mom is hugging her and she doesn’t believe that this is real - that it’s happening, that the spectre that has been surrounding her for seventeen years is banished in something as simple as paperwork. 

“Told you it would be for all he’s worth,” Brenda says with a grin and April grins back at her, watery. 

She makes a mental note to prioritize pre-law in her college searches. If it can feel this good; if she can make people feel this good, this is definitely something that April wants to look into. 

Once she feels like a coherent person again, she excuses herself to the bathroom, and takes out her phone. She wants to share this euphoria, after all. 

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Good Riddance

_Hey TS,_

_I’m pretty sure you were the first person I ever confided in that I wasn’t exactly thrilled with who my father is as a person. It’s been a long, hard year, well, years, of dealing with him and the ripple effect of his behavior on my whole family. But we finally did it. My parents are officially divorced, he isn’t allowed within a 30 foot radius of us, and he has to send us a solid chunk of money every month. It’s amazing._

_I just wanted you to be the first to know. Thank you for being there for me through this whole process. I truly appreciate it. And you._

_Love,_

_A_

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: Good Riddance

_Oh my GOD A, this is HUGE!!! A true game changer! I’m so happy for you and your mom and anyone in your life who doesn't have to deal with this man’s bullshit. This is amazing. I’m so so proud of you for dealing with this. I always am, but you continue to impress me._

_We should totally celebrate! You know, if you want to. Anyway, I'm just so happy for you!_

_Love,_

_TS_

“You’re in a good mood today,” Sterling says the next morning as they walk into school at an ungodly hour for the SAT. 

There are only a few of them there, most of their peers making the foolish choice to wait the senior year to take it, instead of sacrificing a warm spring Saturday afternoon cooped up in a classroom. 

“Oh, you know, I just love standardized testing,” April deadpans. 

“I know you’re trying to be sarcastic, but you _do_ love standardized testing.”

April laughs, in spite of herself. “You got me there.”

It’s nice, just walking into school together with Sterling, like they are two people who were never anything more complicated and heartbreaking than two people who enjoy each other's company. It makes April long for a world where that was true, even though she supposes, in its own specific online way, it was. She doesn’t have time to fully unpack how huge that revelation feels, thankfully, as a packet is being placed in front of her and her fully sharpened No. 2 pencils.

The test itself goes rather painlessly. April has to admit that there _is_ something quite soothing about standardized testing; those four hours devoid of anything except simple algebra and verb conjugations are actually oddly comforting. 

“How do you think it went?” she asks Sterling when they are allowed to talk again, waiting for the proctor to give them their phones back.

“I think I did pretty well, I didn’t have time to triple check all of the math section but…” Sterling trails off as she gets her phone back, and April watches as her expression turns from eagerness into slight disappointment. 

“All good?” April asks, even though she has a strong sinking suspicion she knows what Sterling was expecting.

“Yeah, all good, I was just hoping - you know, nevermind.”

April chooses not to press anymore, she knows she’s already pushing her luck here, this conversation doing nothing but reminding her of her cowardice to not just fess up already. 

Her plan, her stupid fucking plan, was to make Sterling find her tolerable again and then she just would tell her. But now, well, now that Sterling does find her tolerable again, the thought of losing that makes her feel like she might throw up. So she says nothing. Like a coward. 

They make it to the parking lot in silence, April going for her car, before looking around the lot. 

“Did you not drive?” 

“My mom dropped me off, she had to run errands,” Sterling says absently before turning to face April suddenly. “Can I ask you a weird question?”

“Okay,” April says slowly.

“What was your - is it possible that - when we - "

“Wanna go back and redo the verbal?” April jokes, trying to ease whatever ridiculous tension has fallen over them. 

Sterling laughs a little before her face grows serious.

“Why did you like me?”

Well, that’s certainly not what April was expecting. 

“What?” she asks stupidly, only managing one syllable despite literally proving her mastery of vocabulary for the past four hours. 

Sterling leans against April's car, purposefully not making eye contact. 

“Last fall, when we were...” 

April has never really had any alcohol outside of communion, but Lord, she needs a drink to get her through this conversation. 

“Yes, I remember it quite well,” she tells Sterling, attempting to tease to cover up the pounding in her chest.

Sterling laughs a little bit at that, some relief pools in April’s gut. But then Sterling finally looks April in the eye, visibly working up courage, and the relief dissipates as quickly as it came.

“Do you - were you only into me because of physical stuff?” Sterling asks, and April can’t even take a minute to unravel the absurdity of that question before Sterling is barrelling on. “Like, do you think if someone didn’t know what I looked like, if they had only just talked to me online or something, that they would see me that way?”

April’s breath catches in her throat. “Sterling-”

“I’m sorry if it’s super inappropriate to bring this up given our… history, but I just need to know.” There’s a desperation in her voice and April knows it's her fault that it’s there. “I need to know I’m someone who is worth taking that extra step for, that I’m not just kidding myself.”

“Sterling.” April grabs Sterling’s wrist just to get her to stop talking. It’s maybe a bit more forceful than she intended, but it makes Sterling pay attention, eyes flicking to April’s hand. “You’re worth everything. You have to know that.”

“How do you know-?”

April laughs a little, despite the combination of intense guilt and overwhelming affection threatening to crush her. 

“If anyone knows, it’s me. Sterling you are - you’ve known me for years now. Do I strike you as a person who has anything but the highest of standards?”

Sterling shakes her head, a breathy approximation of a laugh leaving her lungs. 

“Exactly,” April says gently, “and Sterling, you - you exceed every standard. All of them. And it’s not just simple attraction - not that the physical stuff wasn’t _great_ \- but it’s who you are as a person, that’s who I fell - that’s what captured me. So don’t you dare think that you aren’t worthy of anyone. It’s quite the reverse, in fact.” 

April sucks in a deep breath. Sterling is looking at her like - like she looked at her all those months ago, like she is someone to be desired and cherished and it makes something in April light up. She feels her heartbeat in her whole body, in where her hand is still clenched around Sterling’s wrist. She’s already dug herself into a pit, there’s no going back now.

“Sterling, I’ve been meaning to - ”

She’s cut off by a blare of a horn as Mrs. Wesley pulls into the parking space right next to Sterling, with a cheery, “hi girls!”

April immediately drops Sterling’s wrist, wiping her hand on her pants to get rid of the addictive feeling of Sterling’s pulse under her fingers. 

“Great timing from my mother,” Sterling says rolling her eyes. 

“Timing never was our forte, was it?” April says, a little breathlessly. 

She feels herself deflate a little, feels that little burst of courage fall away from her. She can’t believe she was so close to telling her everything, to finally getting it off her chest, taking that final step off whatever cliff she’s been teetering on.

“Are you okay?” Sterling asks.

April nods mutely, unsure if she can even say words above the adrenaline and disappointment battling for top billing. 

“Okay,” Sterling says, clearly not convinced, before dropping her voice lower. This time, she’s the one who grasps April’s wrist. “Thank you. For what you said. Really. Thank you.”

“Any time,” April says hoarsely. 

Then Sterling’s shooting her a bright smile and getting into her mom’s car and all April can do is offer up a feeble wave to Mrs. Wesley and watch them drive off. 

No sooner do they leave then April’s phone buzzes. It’s not logical, but an absurd hope rises in her chest. But then she checks her phone. 

Bobby's daily, _h_ _ave_ _you told her yet?_ taunts her from her screen.

April makes sure she’s fully alone in the parking lot before letting out a scream. 

**xxii. just one look and i can hear a bell ring**

“How was the test, honey?” Debbie asks, pulling out of parking lot while Sterling focuses really hard on trying to make her heart beat like a normal person.

 _Well, Mom, the test went fucking great, especially the part where April told me very seriously that I exceed every standard, and you have to understand that that coming from April freaking Stevens is essentially the highest compliment one could give, and she used it on_ me? _And I’ve been trying so hard these past few weeks to remember why things didn’t work out between us, but she keeps looking at me like I’m someone who matters and she told me I am worth everything and that I deserve nothing but happiness and how is anyone supposed to resist that?_

“It was fine,” Sterling says instead, “I think I did pretty good on verbal, probably less good on math. But I can always retake senior year.”

“I saw you were talking to April after,” Debbie says carefully, “are y’all two friends again? I never can tell.”

These days, Sterling often finds herself baffled all over again that this woman is not her biological mother, given that she truly excels at that obnoxious mom quality where she’s able to tell what Sterling is thinking about.

“Yeah, I guess,” Sterling says, going for casual, “she’s not too bad.”

 _Not too bad_ doesn’t fully encapsulate the fact that April is actively causing Sterling to lose her mind now, but she figures it’s good enough for her mom.

“I think April is such a nice young woman,” Debbie says, with the same practiced casualness that Sterling recognizes in her own voice, “You know, if someone happened to be interested in nice young women. Who exist in real life.”

“Mooom,” Sterling groans, feeling her face turning red. “Please stop.”

“Just my two cents,” Debbie says with a grin on her face. “You know you can talk to me about anything new with any girls or boys or-”

“Mom, I beg of you, can we not have this conversation?”

Debbie lifts a hand off the sterling while in defense. 

“I get it, I’ll shut up. But my offer stands.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Thankfully, Debbie doesn’t broach the topic again for the rest of the drive. Sterling is relieved when she can finally go up to her room and be alone. She sits on her bed, a little out of breath, maybe from the stairs, maybe the feeling of April clutching her wrist and saying, no, _commanding,_ “don’t you dare think that you aren’t worthy of anyone. _”_

It was easier when she could convince herself it was just physical attraction. That she can deal with. She’s made her peace with the fact that she will always have that spark of _something_ for April, a byproduct of her sexual awakening or whatever. But this is more than that. Simple attraction doesn’t account for the warmth that has stayed in her chest ever since April shook her hand in a car and told her she wanted to be her friend.

She thinks back to weeks ago, in this very room, April kissing her so gently and softly, but with _intention._ April has always had intention, has always had purpose, and Sterling doesn't know if she can resist when that April Stevens purpose is focused on _her._

But then, she thinks to that same day in here, forces herself to remember April’s fist crushing around A’s letter, lashing out and throwing caustic words and closing herself off to Sterling like she’s done successfully for almost six years. 

Sterling made a choice that day. And she needs to remember it. 

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** next weekend

_Hey!_

_I promise I’m not trying to rush anything, it’s so cool if you say no, but next weekend is the first time in a while that my parents aren’t forcing us to do a group activity because it’s their anniversary. I was wondering if you wanted to maybe hang out or something then. It’s totally cool if not, just thought it could be fun. Low key, no pressure, you know._

_Either way is fine!_

_Love,_

_TS_

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: hey

_Hi!_

_You’re not rushing at all, please no need to be hard on yourself. I will say, this weekend is no good for me. My cousin is back in town and him and his husband are taking me to see Mamma Mia in the park because it's apparently a crime that I haven’t seen that movie. And then on Sunday we’re, and I quote, “going on an adventure” with my mom, which I don’t know how to feel about, but I like the way she is around him. It gives me hope._

_Soon, though. Soon. I’m about ninety percent there, I promise._

_Love,_

_A_

It’s something Sterling has noticed with fondness over the years is that when A is close to something, she always announces that she’s ninety percent there, like she has to put a number to her emotional progress. It’s always been oddly endearing to Sterling, but this time, it makes an unwanted frustration simmer in her bones. Which is bad, she shouldn’t be frustrated, she shouldn’t rush A, she shouldn’t have this restlessness that has lived in her since April fucking Stevens shook her hand in a car, she knows it’s not fair to either of them, but God, sometimes it feels like she is filled with so much want, and has no where to put it. 

So, if Sterling is mopping more aggressively than usual, that’s nobody’s business but her own. She goes over the floor of Yogurtopia again and again until it shines, and Bowser almost slips on his way back to his office. 

“Okay, that’s enough with the mop,” he says, firmly removing it from Sterling’s group.

“Do you think,” she asks him, “if someone says they can’t meet up with you for a specific reason, it’s actually due to the reason or because they don’t want to spend time with you?”

“Oh my god, this again?” Blair calls from the back. 

“Shut up! What do you think, Bowser?”

Bowser leans on the mop, considering. “Well, what’s the excuse? Because, some things are obviously take precedence over- ”

“It’s _Mamma Mia_ in the park.”

Bowser’s eyes light up. 

“They’re doing _Mamma Mia_ in the park? Oh man, I love that movie.”

“ _You_ love _Mamma Mia_?” Blair says, laughing. 

“The joy of ABBA is universal, I don’t need anyone’s judgement on that.”

Blair holds her hands up, still grinning. “I mean, I’ve never seen it.”

“Me neither,” Sterling says. 

“Hold up just a minute.” Bowser narrows his eyes. “You’re telling me neither of you over-energetic meddling white girls with complicated parental issues have ever seen _Mamma Mia?”_

They both shake their heads. 

Bowser sighs. “That's it, we’re going.”

“What?”

“To the movie. In the park. Y’all need to experience your own culture.”

“Aww,” Blair says, “you want to hang out with us outside of work.”

Sterling puts her hand over her chest, honestly touched. Then, she realizes -

“Wait, you still didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh my god, but he did!” Blair exclaims. “Think about it, we can use this movie at the park to totally scope out the crowd for A.”

“I don’t even know what she looks like!” Sterling protests, but a part of her is already excited, just to know she might be in the same space as A.

“Come on,” Blair says, “how many teenage girls with some gay guys will even be at this thing?”

It turns out, the entire demographic for _Mamma Mia_ in the park is teenage girls with some gay guys. 

“I don’t think your plan to find one girl in this crowd is gonna cut it,” Bowser says, as they wait in line to get popcorn. 

“Come on Bows, you are a professional at finding people.”

He shakes his head. “Not tonight. I am off the clock here. I’m only a professional at enjoying Miss Meryl Streep singing Scandinavian pop.”

Blair shakes her head. “I guess it’s on us then.”

Sterling rolls her eyes. “Let’s just watch the movie.”

Blair is already scanning the crowd though, as they scooch up through the snack line. Sterling ignores her, until Blair suddenly clutches her arm.

“Wait, who is _that?_ ” 

Sterling looks through the throngs of girls and gays for whoever might be A. 

“Who?”

“Look.”

Sterling’s caught off guard when Blair literally grabs her face and points it behind them in line, to a truly beautiful man, looking down at his phone. And yeah, okay, Sterling’s type may be limited at the moment to “judgemental nerds with daddy issues” according to her sister, but this six foot, dark haired smiling man who is probably in his 30s at least, is… well, he’s really hot. 

“Oh damn, okay,” Sterling says. 

Mysterious beautiful man is wearing a lavender t-shirt, his arms straining against the soft cotton. His face lights up at someone and both Blair follow his gaze to a shorter man, also all smiles with sandy blonde hair who sidles up to Hottie McHotterson and kisses him on the mouth. 

“Damn, all the good ones are gay,” Blair mutters. 

“Blair, he’s like, forty,” Sterling says, “and also, could be bi, I feel like I should say on behalf of my people.”

“Gay or bi, he’s definitely taken.”

“Sadly, yes. Well, not sadly. They are like, really cute.”

And _God,_ they are. Sterling feels a little bit of something inside her break when Hottie puts his arm around Blondie and kisses the top of his head as they laugh over something. It hurts how much she wants that, that easy affection. She’s about to spiral, thoughts about someone who is so close, but too far away threatening to take over when-

“April! Over here!” Hottie yells, and Sterling and Blair stare open mouthed as April fucking Stevens appears out of nowhere (her parked car) and smiles into the arms of this beautiful gay (maybe bisexual) couple. 

“What the fuck,” Blair states. 

“What the fuck,” Sterling echoes. 

The blonde guy ruffles April’s hair affectionately and hot guy clasps her shoulder and April simply beams. Sterling doesn’t remember the last time she looked like that, so unburdened. That’s not true; Sterling remembers exactly the last time she looked like that, in the backseat of her parents’ car with the music up and nowhere to go. 

“She looks really good,” Blair says. 

“Traitor,” Sterling murmurs. But April _does_ look really good. She’s got her hair loose around her shoulders, shirt tucked into high waisted jean shorts that really do wonders for her ass, like seven wonders of the world type wonders. Like, bring Michelangelo back from the dead to make a sculpture of April Stevens’ ass in jean shorts type wonders. 

“Sterl, you’re at an eleven right now.”

“Huh?”

“Girls, what snacks do you want?” Bowser asks.

“Huh?” Sterling says again.

“Sterl!” Blair slaps her not-so-lightly on the arm. “Popcorn.”

Sterling flushes a little, tears her eyes away. “Right. Sorry, uh, popcorn, please.”

“How the hell,” Blair whispers, once they have somehow successfully navigated the snack stand, “does April Stevens know that guy?”

“Wait,” Bowser says far too loudly, around a fistful of popcorn, “April _Stevens?”_

Then, almost like a bad movie in slow motion, Sterling sees April’s head turn to take them in. 

“Smooth move, Bows,” Blair says. 

Sterling kind of wants to melt into the ground but she ends up just waving awkwardly at April.

Blair shoots her a look. 

_Should we go over there?_

_I don’t know! It would be rude if we didn’t, maybe, but also incredibly awkward if we did. And hey, you don’t even like April._

_I don’t dislike April._

_Since when?_

Blair shrugs. _I don’t know, shit happens._

_Helpful._

_Look, don’t freak out because April looks hot and has hot gay friends. Let’s just say hi so we don’t look like weirdos. Can you do that?_

Sterling nods. _I can do that._

“Bowser, be cool,” Blair says as they head over to April and her mysterious gay friends, “no shop talk.”

“I’m always cool,” Bowser grumbles. 

Sterling barely pays attention to either of them. She’s too busy trying to decipher the look on April’s face, eyes flicking between Sterling and whoever her cool older gay friends are with a slight look of panic before a familiar purposed calm comes over her features. 

“April, what’s good,” Blair says as they approach, “long time no see.”

“You saw me literally yesterday in school,” April says, a familiarity in her mocking that is oddly calming to Sterling.

“Ah, but that was too long,” Blair jokes. 

April rolls her eyes. It’s weirdly not at all hostile between the two of them, but Sterling doesn’t have time to unpack that before the blonde guy looks at April and says with a tease in his voice, “aren’t you going to introduce us to your friends?”

“Yeah, April, please introduce us,” Blair echos, eyeing up the other guy. 

April visibly swallows. “Right,” she says, “this is Bobby and Enrique.”

The one who Sterling assumes is Bobby lifts up his hand in a wave. 

“Hi I’m April’s-”

“He's my - advisor,” April hurriedly finishes, “for, um, college applications. But we’ve really hit it off recently. You know, going straight from bonding over SAT scores to going to the movies.”

Bobby raises his eyebrows. “Yep, that's what we did.”

“And I’m just his husband!” Enrique says cheerfully. 

“Great!” Blair says, equally cheery, holding her hand out for Enrique to shake, “hi, I’m Blair, this is my sister, Sterling, and our friend Bowser. Love your whole vibe.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Blair,” Enrique says, before his eyes land on Sterling, “and Sterling, right?”

Sterling nods.

“Sterling,” he says slower. “Bobby, it’s Sterling!”

“Sterling!” Bobby echoes eagerly.

April looks like she wants to kill him. 

“Uh,” Sterling says, “me?”

Before anyone can say anything else, Enrique engulfs her in a hug. 

“We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Okay…” Sterling says, still utterly confused, but not hating the hugging.

“Enrique,” April’s voice cuts through, sharp in the way it always gets when she’s anxious, “please let it go.”

“Never!” he says, with a wink.

“Uh, don't get me wrong, I love whatever is happening here,” Blair cuts in, “but can someone explain?”

“Oh, your sister may have come up in conversation.”

Blair echoes his grin. “Has she now?”

“Oh, she sure has.”

Sterling feels a warmth in her toes at April talking about her to her cool gay older friends. Also, still bafflement at the idea of April even having cool gay older friends. 

“Please stop,” April warns Enrique. Sterling thinks she’s blushing. It’s unbearably cute. 

“If you insist.” He drapes an arm around her and squeezes before letting go. “But we are discussing this later, young lady.”

“You know what!” Bobby says excitedly, “why don’t we all sit together?”

April looks like she could kill him. It’s also unbearably cute. 

“Great,” Bowser says. “At least then y’all can be awkward sitting down.” 

Which is how three teen girls, a stunningly attractive gay couple, and the one straight man at _Mamma Mia_ end up all sitting on blankets next to each other watching award-winning actors sing ABBA at varying degrees of success. 

“I can’t believe you haven’t seen this,” Sterling says to April, around the time of the titular number.

“Why?” April asks, “I don’t exactly scream Greek island relaxation life.”

“I know,” Sterling whispers, “but don’t think I’ve forgotten your thing with musicals.”

“Thing with musicals, huh?” Bobby asks, overhearing.

“Oh, April almost killed me in the seventh grade when I got the lead over her in _Annie_.”

April shoots Sterling a glare, but not a menacing one, one that makes Sterling smile in response. 

“If it makes you feel better,” she says, “I think everyone remembers your Miss Hannigan more than my Annie.”

“You were terrifying,” Blair supplies. 

“Thank you,” April says smugly. 

Bobby leans over to April conspiratorially, like they share a secret. Sterling wonders how April got to this point with her _college advisor_ of all people. 

“You know,” he says, “they always put the best actresses in the supporting roles. Look here, we have Christine Baranski playing second fiddle to Meryl Streep. I would be ostracized by my community for saying anything bad about Meryl, but her vocal range is nothing compared to Christine.”

“Your point?” April asks, amused.

“My point,” he says, in a stage whisper, “is that you’re clearly a star. No offense, Sterling.”

“None taken,” Sterling says, grinning. 

She gets it, all of a sudden, why April is so close with this random man she met through happenstance, this is someone, outside their school and community, that April can just be around, with no pretenses. He whispers something in her ear and she laughs again, hitting him lightly in the chest. The magnitude of the situation hits Sterling all at once, April Stevens who had months ago cried to her about her fear and and reluctance to say anything about her own sexuality, here, now, visibly and vocally chummy with these gay people, looking completely relaxed and open. Sterling suddenly wants to cry, wants to tell April she’s proud of her. Instead she just watches, until Blair nudges her shoulder. 

“Calm yourself, horndog,” Blair whispers. 

“Right,” Sterling says. Honestly, she wishes that was the only reason she was staring at April. Wishes it was just simple attraction, not this pride and care that permeates her whole body. 

It only gets worse as the movie progresses, Sterling somehow always catching April’s eye when something ridiculous happens, sharing a smile together, like they are in on a joke that no one else is. Sterling missed this, missed the way it feels like April’s mind understands hers without any holds barred. 

Sterling admits she isn’t fully paying attention to the movie, but it’s pretty easy to follow. By the end, Meryl chooses the guy who can’t sing, both Bowser and Blair pretend they aren’t crying, and the girl from _Mean Girls_ still doesn’t know who her dad is. 

“I always wonder why she doesn’t just get a DNA test,” Enrique says offhandedly. 

Sterling purposefully stares straight ahead at the screen, tries not to give into the urge to scream that fills her chest every time she hears the words _DNA test._ She feels Blair’s hand wrap around hers and breathes a little easier at the touch. 

“I don’t think she needs a test,” April is saying slowly, and Sterling doesn’t need to be looking at her to feel the intensity of her gaze, “they all clearly care for her innately, that’s all that matters anyway.”

Sterling’s breath catches in her throat. She unconsciously leans a little into Blair. 

“Great point, April,” Blair says quietly. 

“Besides,” April says, clearly sensing something going on and lightening her voice, “I would swap my dad out for Colin Firth in a heartbeat.”

Sterling is so shocked she laughs, catching April’s eye, who is smiling so genuinely at her that Sterling doesn’t know how to do anything but stare. 

“When the hell did April Stevens get cool?” Blair says, once they are all back in the car. “She was… nice? And funny? I think I get what you saw in her.”

“See in her,” Sterling corrects, before she can think about it. 

“Okay, bitch!” Blair says, “she’s back in the game.”

“Why am I always in these conversations,” Bowser bemoans as he pulls the car out, “can’t we just talk about the movie? My favorite part was when they were all dancing on the docks. _Don't go wasting your emotions..._ ”

They both ignore him. 

“So what about your pen pal?” Blair asks. 

Sterling starts. She had been so caught up in the energy of April that she had barely even thought about A. About the whole reason she even went to this event. 

Looking for A. A who was here at the same time as them, with her cousin and his husband.

The image of April sticks in her mind, sharing a smile with Bobby, the way their eyes crinkled in the same way, how she had looked so panicked when she saw Sterling, how she uncharacteristically stuttered over the words _advisor._ How, sure, there were a lot of a teenage girls with gay guys at the movie, but how many in this specific age range? 

Sterling stops breathing for a second.

She thinks back to just minutes ago, the way April looked at her, words chosen carefully when Enrique made that comment about DNA tests. Like she _knew._ The way that, if Sterling thinks about it, she can pinpoint this change in how April has been treating her back to that afternoon in her bedroom, hand squeezing so tight around A’s letter, something in her eyes that Sterling didn’t understand at the time, that she’d thought had been simple jealousy, or a need to take Sterling down somehow, but maybe, _maybe_ had been the harsh sting of realization. The way she had looked at her in the parking lot after the SAT, the seriousness in her tone, like she was about to say something huge.

Now that Sterling really thinks about it, how many gay teenage girls in the Atlanta area just so happened to be at this specific movie and just so happened to have perfect vocabularies and taught themselves cursive and have awful fathers who finally left this year and have the singular ability to make Sterling feel like no one else had ever has before and-

“You don’t think…” Blair says in a hushed tone, turning around in the front seat so she can face Sterling.

Sterling has never been so grateful in her life to have a sister. She leans forward. 

“It could be, right?”

“It would be a crazy coincidence-

“And maybe wishful thinking-”

“But there’s almost too many things in common-”

“But what if I’m just thinking this because I totally have a crush on both of them-”

“Well _I_ definitely don’t have a crush on either of them and I still think the odds are pretty good-”

“But why wouldn’t she tell me-”

“Well, she’s not historically emotional open-”

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Bowser interrupts. 

“Bowser!” Blair shouts, whipping around to face him, “we’re gonna need to use that corkboard in your office. And maybe, like, red string and thumbtacks for the vibes.”

“The vibes,” he repeats slowly, like it’s a foreign concept. 

Blair turns back to Sterling, who can’t really focus on what’s happening, as an unnameable combination of hope and excitement and trepidation and _what if it’s her_ and _what if it’s all in your head_ are building in her at a rapid speed.

“We are going to get to the bottom of this,” Blair tells her firmly, her hand reaching back and finding Sterling’s. 

And maybe it’s the confidence in Blair’s voice or the way that Sterling wants it to be true with her whole body, but she believes her. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: get prepped for some cheesy shit ahead folks, thanks for sticking with me till the end!

* * *

“Will you tell me how long you have loved him?"

"It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when it began.” - Jane Austen, _Pride and Prejudice_

* * *

**xxiii. drafts (1)**

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** weird question

_Dear A,_

_This is going to sound totally nuts and I’m so sorry in advance if I’m wrong, but if I’m right -_

_If I’m right, your name is April Stevens and I have known you for almost my whole life. Once, in the third grade, you held my hand during the spelling bee after I got out, and when we were 10, we formed a two person prayer circle so that our desks would be next to each other at school. And there_ _were years where we barely talked except to prove to each other that we didn't care anymore, but then last year, God, last year, I kissed you and it changed everything, and later, you told me you never wanted to talk to me again, but then you kissed me again and it changed everything again and just last month you asked if we could be friends and said you wanted nothing more than my complete happiness, and I can’t stop thinking about you no matter how hard I try._

_So, if you’re her, and, despite everything, no BECAUSE of everything, I hope to God you’re her, I need to know why you’ve just left me hanging. Is there a long game? Do you want me to feel stupid for some reason? To punish me? But that can't be it - I know you, April, and I know you wouldn’t do that. (Okay, maybe a couple months ago or a couple years ago, you totally would, but I don’t believe that you would do that right now. Not after everything.)_

_Or is it because you’re scared? Because trust me, I'm scared too. But if it is you, I’m a zillion things better than scared right now. Don’t you just think it has to be a sign? Not to be cheesy, but don’t you think this is the world’s way of telling us that after everything, this is something that should happen? You and me? Like, maybe this has always been in our cards._

_Every day when I go to school now, every time I get an email from you, I keep wondering. My sister says I should just man up (her words) and talk to you. To send this email I’ve been writing for the past couple weeks now or to finally bring it up in person. But I can’t yet, I don’t know. Maybe I am scared, A, I’m so scared that you're not her and I’m just sitting here concocting stories like a dumb teen girl who wants something so bad, she makes it make sense in her head. I’m terrified that if you’re not her, I’ll say the wrong thing and end up alienating two different people who I care about so so much._

_I feel like I’m stuck in this in-between place where I’ll keep seeing you at school and keep writing to you and keep hoping, until maybe something will break this pattern. Honestly, I wish I could ask YOU about all of this, both forms you, all forms of you, but I can’t. For obvious reasons._

_So, just please tell me, please let me know if it’s you._

_(If this is not April, please disregard this email that I will never EVER send, oh GOD I have to get it together.)_

**xxiv. ninety percent there**

The end of junior year sneaks up on April. She doesn't remember the last time time went so quickly, but before she knows it, the air has that specific kind of Georgia heat that feels amazing for about a week and then wrecks her hair for the rest of the summer. She finds her days remarkably full; studying for finals; trying to place in the semifinal for forensics; gearing up for camp.

Through all of that, there is a nagging in the back of her head, the inevitable fact that through all of this changing of the seasons, there has been one constant person. 

When it starts getting hot, it's Sterling casually offering, “you should come by my work, don’t tell, but I can totally hook you up with free froyo.”

It’s the way that Sterling starts joining her in the library after school to go over what they need to know for finals, making little competitions over for each class, which results in both of them dissolving into laughter until they have to vacate the premises. And sometimes, when they stop laughing, Sterling will look at her like she’s trying to figure her out and April won't be able to breathe for a moment.

It’s the way that when she makes it to the final round in Forensics semifinals, all she can focus on is the way Sterling is looking at her in that same way, but with something dangerous in her eyes, something that April remembers too well from that afternoon in Sterling’s bedroom months ago now. It’s so much intensity that April fumbles her words a little and Willingham only gets second place, and April is too shaken to be properly angry.

“Sorry,” she says lamely to Coach Esposito, afterwards. 

She can’t believe that after all this time, she missed out on an accolade because of something so inane as _feelings_. It’s embarrassing. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” he says, remarkably calm. She wonders if he really has been smoking weed. “We made it further than did last year.”

“But we didn’t _win.”_

He laughs. “You know it’s okay, to have small goals, right? This semester, I said we’d get past a quarterfinal, and we did. Next semester we’re getting past a semifinal, and you can bet your ass that before you graduate, we’re winning the whole thing.”

April grins, before nodding intently. 

“Damn right we are.”

Coach Esposito laughs again. “You’re way too serious for a teenager, you know that right?”

“I’ve been told.”

He claps her on the back in a way that almost feels paternal. 

“Now, come on, I’m buying everyone pizza. Also Sterling has been staring at you for the last five minutes, and it’s kind of creeping me out.”

April turns to see that Sterling is indeed staring at her, though April wouldn’t necessarily deem it creepy. 

“Good job out there, Wesley,” Coach Esposito says as he passes, leaving Sterling and April as alone as two people can be in a semi-crowded classroom. 

“He is weirdly chill,” Sterling says with a little laugh. 

“It’s all the weed,” April says with a grin, and is pleased when Sterling’s laugh turns full. 

“I just wanted to say,” Sterling says, when she’s recovered, “that, um, you totally deserved to win. Those judges are, like, sexist or something, I swear.”

“It’s okay,” April says, “well, not sexism, obviously, but I lost fair and square on that one, I think. I got-” She swallows, meeting Sterling’s gaze, “distracted.” 

“Distracted, huh?”

Sterling is fully grinning now, and April finds herself grinning back. She shrugs a shoulder. 

“It’s hard to believe, but sometimes I am not absolutely perfect at everything.”

Sterling mock gasps, clutching a hand to her chest.

“Wow, April, you can’t just drop a bomb like that on me.”

April laughs at the ease of it all. Then Sterling straightens up, her smile slowly disappearing. 

“Um, speaking of,” she gets out, “you don’t happen to - this is gonna sound so weird - but maybe-”

“Sterling!” 

Sterling visibly deflates, in what April isn’t sure is relief or disappointment, when she’s interrupted by her family coming over to them. 

“I keep telling them not to come,” Sterling groans. 

April tries to laugh, trying to dissipate whatever weird tension had fallen over her and Sterling. She offers a wave to the Wesleys, ready to let them get to whatever family bonding is in store for today. 

“April,” Mrs. Wesley says before she can make a graceful exit, “so lovely to see you, as always.”

“Thank you,” April says, touched despite what she’s sure is just a standard pleasantry, “the feeling’s mutual, of course.”

“Great job up there,” Mr. Wesley says, “you know, you always had a knack for public speaking. I still get chills sometimes thinking about that time you were that evil lady with the orphanage in - what was that again?”

“ _Annie_ , Dad,” Sterling says, rolling her eyes. April wonders when she started calling him Dad again, and smiles a little to herself. “I played Annie, remember?”

“Oh right!” Mr. Wesley says, “and you were so wonderful.”

“You don’t have to pretend, it’s okay, we all know April stole the show.”

April laughs, it what she hopes is kind of a humble way, trying not to let it show the way she is in wonderment at such casual praise from a father. There’s also a pride that fills her up at the way Sterling interacts with her parents now, just like she used to, despite any life-changing revelations that may or may not have occurred in the last year. 

It makes her want to tell Sterling she’s proud of her, that she shouldn’t downplay just how monumental this is. But she can’t just now, not without letting everything else come out too, everything else that gives her a near anxiety attack just thinking about. 

So she just smiles at the Wesley clan and keeps it down. 

She knows her excuses are wearing thin as to why she won’t just tell Sterling already. Her most recent one is that finals week is quickly approaching and she doesn't want to throw Sterling off her game and ruin her grades or anything. And then after finals, she’s leaving almost immediately for camp, and it would be simply rude to just drop something huge on Sterling and then leave town. 

So, that leaves what, senior year? Then college? Maybe she’ll wait till their high school reunion when Sterling is married and has adorable round-faced babies with some scrub and then she’ll be framed as a home-wrecker for breaking up whatever perfect family Sterling Wesley will have amassed by then. 

When Bobby’s _have you told her yet_ comes through on the last Wednesday of the school year, with a cheeky _xoxo your college advisor_ attached, April wants to throw her phone far far away. 

“You good?” Ezekiel asks, eyes focused on the color that has risen in April’s face, the way she’s sure she looks like she could commit bloody murder at any second.

April turns to him, energy that she refuses to put where she knows she should coursing through her.

“Are you still a slut for drama, Ezekiel?”

“Always.”

“Come here.”

She drags him away from the lunch table for privacy; a public scene is absolutely not what this conversation calls for. 

“Buy a girl dinner first,” he jokes, when she finally lets go of his wrist at a secluded part of the lawn. 

“Funny.”

“I try.”

“I’m in love with Sterling Wesley.”

It’s not exactly how April planned on telling Ezekiel, but it gets the job done. It’s also the first time she’s used those particular words, not that it’s remotely surprising at this point. Just an interesting choice of her subconscious. 

Ezekiel stares at her for a few seconds, before grinning.

“Wow.”

“I know.”

“And I thought you guys were just fucking.”

April coughs, unable to breathe for a second. 

“ _What?”_

“Please, you’d have to be dumb or het to not notice the… energy between you two. But wow, April, real feelings, look at you go.”

“We’re not-” April looks around, to be sure no one is in earshot, “- we’re not _fucking_. We’ve made out a few times and there’s all the emails, but we aren’t - it’s not - and now I don’t even know if she-”

Ezekiel puts a hand on her shoulder. “Slow down, sweetheart. So you aren’t actually screwing, but you want to be? Also, you know, the L word. Both of them.”

“In so many words. It’s a long story.” Suddenly so tired, she sits on the lawn, leaning back so she’s fully lying on the grass. Ezekiel joins her. “Oh, also, yes I’m gay, that was supposed to be a whole thing.”

“Oh, sorry, should you tell me again and I can act surprised?”

April laughs. “Moment’s gone.”

Ezekiel smiles, leaning back so they lie side by side on the lawn. It’s nice, peaceful, until he suddenly sits up and looks at her quizzically. 

“Wait, did you say emails?”

“I told you it was a long story.”

“We have 20 minutes left of lunch.”

Apparently, the second time spilling her guts about this ridiculous story is just as cathartic as the first. Even with the heavy idea of needing to tell Sterling hanging over her, April feels lighter after. 

Right before her and Ezekiel walk back to the throngs of students, he stops her, hand on her shoulder.

“Two things: One, it’s gonna work out. She’s clearly into you too, y’all are the least subtle people I know.”

April laughs a little, warmed by his familiar mocking. 

“Two - I think you just have to stop being a little bitch about it.”

“I suppose I deserve that.”

Her last final of the day is gym of all things, which is particularly cruel. The fact that gym class even has finals is one of the many great failures of the American education system. 

After class, and her inner celebration that this will be her last time seeing Coach Boone for three glorious months, she finds herself falling into step with the easier Wesley. It’s been a recent development, spending time with Blair, but April supposes that once someone calms you from a panic attack outside their house, and you observe them enthusiastically singing “Dancing Queen,” you can’t really just call yourself acquaintances.

“Any summer plans, Stevens?” Blair asks, as they make their way back to their lockers from the gym. 

“Camp counselor,” April answers, “I leave on Monday.” 

“Dork.”

“Fostering young minds.”

“Same thing. So what’s your deal gonna be? Canoeing? Archery? Bible study?”

April grins. 

“Theater.”

“ _Dork_.”

“I pray for your English grade with that vocabulary.”

“So let me get this straight,” Blair says, ignoring her, “you’re going to have to deal with, like, singing children? Voluntarily?”

April rolls her eyes. “They just needed a counselor who knows something about the arts to help with the play this year, so I volunteered.”

Blair laughs again. “You’re just a regular Rachel Berry, aren't you?”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“You’re telling me a big ol’ dork like you never watched _Glee?”_

“Must have missed that cultural touchstone. You know how my parents are.” 

“Right. You know, on second thought, you’re more of a Santana.”

“I’ve been told.”

As if summoned by her own unwilling dramatic irony, Sterling appears by the lockers as they approach. She smiles at the sight of them and April feels something light and heavy at the same time form in her chest. 

“Watcha talking about?” She asks, falling into step so easily. 

“April’s such a Santana, right?”

“Oh definitely,” Sterling says, turning to April, “I told you that, didn’t I?” Something comes over her face then, and April feels her heartbeat in her ears. 

Sterling looks at Blair for a second, staring intently like there’s no one else in the universe for a second, before blinking it away and turning back to April.

“Sorry, that was someone else.”

“Right,” April says quickly. She could do it now. This is an opening, albeit through a fictional character from a show April has never seen. But a crowded hallway isn’t exactly ideal for larger romantic overtures, for whatever Sterling’s reaction may be.

“Are you okay?” Sterling asks. 

April must be getting sloppy, she used to be excellent at hiding emotional breakdowns about Sterling Wesley, but clearly something shows on her face now. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she says quickly, “I just have to go... study for finals.”

“Same!” Sterling enthuses. Shit. “Do you want to go over AP Chem stuff and, I don’t know, maybe talk about-”

“Sorry, I actually told -” April scans the hall for anyone who could be an excuse, and in a moment of panic, settles on “- Luke I would help him with math. Right, Luke?”

Poor Luke, who just happens to be walking by at the right time, stops in his tracks, clearly confused. 

“Uh, you did? I mean, I could definitely use the help. I don’t understand how we are supposed to have the quadratic formula totally memorized. It’s, like… so long.”

“See, he clearly needs my help.”

“Okay…” Sterling says slowly, “um, you two have fun.”

“Sick, thanks April,” Luke says, and April lets out a breath. 

Then, as she’s about to turn to follow Luke, Sterling grabs her by the arm. April tries not to let herself be too affected by the touch, or by the way Sterling lowers her voice so only April can hear. 

“You’re not...” Sterling whispers, “... trying to do something with Luke again?”

April can’t help herself, she laughs. With everything else that has happened this year, she almost forgot about that particular ill-advised attempt to stay in the closet. 

“Definitely not,” she whispers back, once she’s gotten it slightly more together. She clasps Sterling’s hand and tilts her head so she’s whispering in her ear. “I’ve been trying to stop hiding who I am recently. I think I’m about ninety percent there.” 

She hears the way Sterling’s breath catches before she moves away and flashes Sterling a smile. 

“Stay tuned.”

It’s oddly pretty fun, sitting in the library, coaching Luke on his Algebra II final, a class April took freshman year. He’s a pretty enthusiastic learner, a little too enthusiastic, but April gently talks him through the application of the quadratic formula, grinning when he lights up a little when he finally gets it right. Something about how genuine he is about the whole thing makes April feel a little silly in retrospect for wasting five years of jealousy on the guy. 

Maybe it’s that realization, or the way Sterling had looked at her in the hallway still thrumming in her blood, or Ezekiel telling her to stop being a little bitch, but something emboldens her enough to ask broach a subject she’d never thought she would. 

“Can I ask you something a little odd?”

“Sure thing,” he says cheerfully, “anything for my favorite tutor. Wait, is it called tutoring if it’s just one time? I don’t know. Maybe I need another tutor.” He laughs a little to himself before turning back to April. “What’s up?”

“How did you- when you asked Sterling out, how did you work up the courage to do it?”

He looks up, half-confused. Maybe that’s just how his face defaults, though. 

“Like back in fifth grade?”

“Yeah.”

He smiles fondly. It seems more nostalgic fond than still-in-love-with-your-ex fond, which April takes as a win. 

“There were a couple weeks before I did it where I would get home from school, spend a while just psyching myself up in the mirror, put on the right music, and then I-” He laughs. “I would write notes of what I was going to say.”

April smiles, endeared in spite of herself. “And that worked?”

“Yeah, I guess it did. I don’t know, something about writing it down so many times made it real.”

“The power of the written word.”

“Why do you want to know?” Luke asks, and before April can think of an excuse, he follows it up with, “are you and her a thing?”

April drops her pencil. Luke is just looking at her with boyish inquisitiveness, not like he just asked a question that shattered her worldview. She stares at him, wondering if she misheard, but no, that’s definitely what he said.

“Would - would you be okay with that?” she asks shakily. Not a confirmation. But not a denial. 

“Oh yeah,” he says cheerily, “it’s been a long time since Sterl and I were together. I’m totally focused on my music now, anyway. Theo from my band told me about this lady named Yoko Ono and I’m really not trying to - ”

“Luke,” April interrupts, lowering her voice, “I mean - not that I don’t appreciate it - but I meant, would you be okay with it because we’re both girls?”

“Ohhh,” Luke says, comprehension almost comically dawning on his face. “I didn’t even think about that. I mean, I know the Bible says some stuff, but one of the things Sterling taught me when we were together was that, like, sometimes words written by old dudes a couple thousand years ago matter less than the general vibes that we should all be nice to each other and make each other happy. And you guys are always, like, super smiley around each other. It’s been a long time since she’s looked like that. So if you two make each other happy, I mean… who cares about the rest, right?”

April could cry. She swallows thickly, looking at Luke, who simply gives her a small smile. 

“You’re a really good guy, Luke,” she says, unsure of what else to say. “Exceptional, actually. Can you, um, not tell anyone else though? Not yet.”

“Sure thing,” he says, like it’s as easy as breathing. “So are you gonna write down what you’re gonna say? When you ask her out?”

April smiles, feeling almost unburdened, “Something like that.”

When April gets home from school, she goes immediately up to her room, spends a while just psyching herself up in the mirror, makes sure the right music is playing. Then she gets out the fancy stationary her mom got her a few birthdays ago and sits down at her desk. 

April smiles to herself as a Zayn-less One Direction sings, _you and me got a whole lot of history_ over her speakers and she finally writes out words she’s been afraid to for so long now. 

_Dear Friend,_

**xxv. too slutty for summer camp**

**From:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **To:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Summer

_Hi TS,_

_I write to you half with an apology, half with hope. I know there have been multiple times where you have asked to meet at this point and I have gently refused. I am genuinely sorry about that, sorry that sometimes the passage of time seems to overtake me, something that I pledged to do long ago is still undone as the days continue to pass._

_That said, I know it’s long overdue for us to see each other, to physically shake the hands that have typed each other thousands of words over almost six years. I’m going pretty much directly from school to my job back at camp, but after the first session, I’ll have the second week of July off. I was wondering, though it seems small now, if I could buy you a cup of coffee or something. I hear there’s a lesbian bar in Midtown that does a killer brunch._

_I know it’s more waiting, but I hope you’ll indulge me just a touch further. And I figure, in the meantime, we can write each other real letters, just for old times sake._

_Let me know._

_Love,_

_A_

**From:** ripzayn4evrr@gmail.com  
 **To:** leiaorgana04@gmail.com  
 **Subject:** Re: Summer

_Hi!!!_

_Wow, yes definitely!! I can somehow find it in me to wait till July!! I’m really really looking forward to meeting you. It’s definitely been a long time coming, and I know I’m not the most patient person, but I’m beyond sure it will be worth the wait!!!_

“Jesus, you really simp for this girl in every medium, huh?”

“Oh my _God,_ Blair, how many times do I have to tell you to stop reading over my shoulder?”

Blair smirks at her as Sterling turns away her laptop. 

“I could read those exclamation points from downstairs, don’t blame me for this one on me. April’s the one who’s got you all… enthusiastic.”

Sterling feels her face redden and she hates it. But she can’t even stay angry at her own embarrassment or at Blair’s snooping for more than three seconds, not when this bubbling excitement threatens to take over her whole body. 

A wants to meet. Which means that _April_ wants to meet. Sterling pictures a bright summer day, April waiting for her on a street corner or a park or a bench or something? In all honesty, the background blurs together in Sterling’s mind, nothing mattering except the smile on April’s face, the way her eyes would take in Sterling, the way she would walk toward Sterling, before firmly taking her in her arms and -

“Sterl?”

Sterling blinks herself out of it to see his sister grinning down at her. 

“You good?”

“Never better.”

She goes back to her computer, trying to figure out how to craft the perfect response.

“How about, _sounds good love you too April xoxo gossip girl?”_ Blair suggests.

“You are just the definition of unhelpful,” Sterling snaps, “and besides. What if it’s -” and there it is, the persistent fear beneath the excitement, the nagging voice in her head whispering - “what if it’s not her?”

Blair looks at her like she’s an idiot, which is honestly, kind of reassuring. 

“Sterl, come on. We’ve been over this a zillion times. And new evidence keeps cropping up. How many lesbians do you think there are in the Atlanta area with shitty dads who wouldn’t let them watch _Glee_ that are about to go off to be camp counselors?"

“I don’t know, at least 12?”

“Don’t try to out-math me, you know the odds have got to be at least ninety percent.”

Sterling’s stomach does a little swoop, thinking of April clutching her arm in the hallway this afternoon, mouth beautifully forming around the words _ninety percent_ , words that Sterling had seen so many times in writing from A that she couldn’t breathe for a second. 

“Yeah,” Sterling breathes, trying to convince herself more than anything else, “you’re right, I know, they’ve gotta be the same.”

Blair smiles smugly. “I’ll let you get back to writing your gay little emails, but I will be gloating about you saying I’m right all summer!”

Sterling rolls her eyes until Blair leaves, but then she falls back into her desk chair, staring up at the ceiling.

“They are the same, right?” She asks her ceiling, maybe God too for good measure. “They just have to be.”

Neither her ceiling nor God says anything back. Figures. The unspoken, _but what if they’re not,_ still hangs over her.

Sterling’s last class of junior year is English, Mr. Wilkins taking pity on them and letting them have class outside, lounged across the lawn, a cacophony of anticipation disguised as discussing their final papers on _Pride and Prejudice._

Even Sterling, who would normally be more than down to dissect some old timey romance, is distracted by trying to catch April’s eye, then having Blair shoot her a look that is somehow both pitying and judgemental. 

“So you’re telling me Darcy just writes her a letter and boom, all is forgiven?” Franklin is asking incredulously, “like, you’re an asshole to this girl for months, and then it’s all fixed with some pretty and romantic words?”

“There are obviously more levels to it, Franklin,” Mr. Wilkins says, exasperated, “the growth that Darcy has shown over the course of -”

“Nah, I just think the guy was good with a quill.”

Mr. Wilkins lets out a long, exasperated sigh. 

“That’s as good a time as any to call it, I suppose. Anticlimactic as ever. See you all next year.”

Sterling had thought, hoped, that having a concrete date where she would finally meet A (April, please, _please_ , April) would make her less impatient. She keeps telling herself that it will all be resolved by the second week of July anyway, that she doesn’t need to drive this girl away _again_ by rushing her, but still, as soon as class is dismissed, Sterling finds her legs taking her over to where April is sitting. 

She’s cross-legged on a patch of grass, laughing at something Ezekiel is saying and she just looks so pretty and vibrant and it’s so not fair that she gets to look like that while Sterling feels like she might vomit at any moment. 

“Hey,” Sterling says, lamely.

“Hannah B., we have that thing to go to,” Ezekiel says abruptly. 

“We do?” Hannah B. asks. “I thought the whole last day of school thing meant we were pretty much obligation-free.”

“Just come on, I’ll show you,” he says, before grabbing her hand and essentially forcing her to stand and walk with him. 

Sterling sits on the grass next to April, purposefully putting a few inches of distance between them. If she wanted to though, she could move her leg just slightly so that her knee would press up against April’s.

“So... ” she finally musters up the courage to ask, “summer camp, huh?”

April looks like a deer in the headlights for a second and, honestly, Sterling is a little insulted that April thinks she _wouldn’t_ have at least an inkling at this point. But, Sterling reminds herself, patience. 

“Blair told me,” she adds. 

April relaxes a little and Sterling kind of wants to scream, kind of wants to shake her, to force her to fucking _talk_ to Sterling not through a keyboard or cryptic glances, but just to lay everything out on the table. She flexes her hand, wanting to reach out the few inches needed for her touch April, to grab her hand and for her to look Sterling in the eyes. She puts in on her own leg instead. Patience. Well, a combination of patience and the still very active fear of the statistical anomaly that April isn’t even-

“Do you ever think - ” April asks suddenly, her gaze sharp enough to tear Sterling out of her thoughts. April takes a deep breath, looking like she’s preparing herself for something.

“Do you ever think about what would have happened last fall if… if I’d been a little less scared and if my dad hadn’t come back and you didn’t have anything to do with him being arrested in the first place and I wasn’t so terrible to you about it, that we could have been - we could have just… been. Just you and me. Just two kids who liked each other.”

Sterling sucks in a breath.

“Yeah,” she answers quietly, “I think about that all the time.”

“Me too,” April says.

She looks so pensive then, and all Sterling wants to do is kiss her, to tell her that all is forgiven, but their classmates are loud and rowdy around them and April is suddenly standing up and brushing off her uniform and this conversation can’t just end already. There are so many answers Sterling still needs, but the look in April’s eyes is so final that Sterling doesn’t know what to say.

“Have a great summer, Sterling,” she says softly, starting to walk away. 

Sterling, in all her eloquence, can only muster, “that’s it?”

April turns around. There are about 10 feet between them, and Sterling can vaguely hear yelling and laughter on the lawn all around them. But it feels like they are the only two people standing here, the only two people in the world at the moment, when April looks Sterling in the eye, a smile forming on the edges of her lips, before saying-

“I’ll write you a letter from camp, okay?”

Then her smile grows huge and bright, reaching her eyes, which are still looking at Sterling like she is the most important person in the world. All Sterling can do is stare, the sight of April looking so free and joyous combined with what her words just _have_ to mean, rendering Sterling speechless. So she just watches as April gives her one last glance before turning around and heading to her car. 

Sterling sinks down onto the grass, unaware of when she started grinning like an idiot, but fully aware of the fact that she simply cannot stop. And she never wants to. 

The letter comes a week later, Anderson casually dropping a pile of mail on the breakfast table the first Friday of summer.

“Looks like there’s a letter in there for you, Sterl,” he says casually, “handwritten and everything.” 

Before he can even finish his sentence, Sterling snatches the letter from the table. It’s the same handwriting, matured over six years, handwriting that Sterling had been a fool not to recognize earlier, spelling out _Sterling Wesley_ like it was meant to write out her full name. The letter is sealed with a pink heart, just like the old ones. Sterling could cry. 

Instead, because there is no way on God’s green earth she is having whatever emotional reaction she will have in front of her _parents,_ she bolts upstairs. 

“What’s with your sister?” she hears Anderson ask in the background.

“Pen-pal stuff,” Blair says through her toast. 

“Don’t tell me she still doesn’t know that girl’s name,” Debbie sighs. 

Sterling doesn’t care. She clamors up the stairs to her room, pulling the door shut behind her. She’s frantic, she’s well aware, but she still takes a second opening the sticker, making sure she doesn’t damage a single inch of the letter, before unfolding it and finally reading the contents. 

_Dear Friend,_

_This is my third draft of this letter. What can I say, I’ve always been a perfectionist. I’m sitting at a picnic table right now, the same place where I wrote you those first letters half a decade ago. Now, I’m older, and would like to say wiser, but who knows if that is technically true. It seems as if several lifetimes have unfolded in the six years since I first wrote you, but some things, the important things, remain the same._

_When I was 11 years old, I thought I lost my best friend. Also when I was 11 years old, I found a new best friend. One who I could tell anything to. There is nothing quite like the feeling of being able to confidently speak your mind to someone and have them actually care, actually want to keep talking to you. It was something that I had in the first friend, that I thought I’d lost forever, and then found once again in the second one._

_I’m sure you know by now that both friends are you. I wish there was a less cliched and overwrought way to say “it’s always been you,” but sometimes a cliche is more than accurate._

_I think I fell in love with you for the first time when I was sitting at this very picnic table reading words you wrote to me. Or maybe I fell in love with you in the third grade when you held my hand during the spelling bee. Or maybe I fell in love with you when you were the first person I felt comfortable telling a certain truth about myself. Or maybe I fell in love with you that day that you kissed me, opening something inside of me that I didn’t know could be so free. Maybe I fell in love with you when you trusted me enough to tell me things you wouldn’t tell those outside your family. I fell in love with you when I watched an episode of America’s Next Top Model (Team April, of course) for you, or when I watched a video about Taylor Swift and Harry Styles hitting someone with their car (they didn’t). I fell in love with you when I sat in your childhood bedroom, read words I’d written on a piece of paper, and reacted less than perfectly._

_I was in love with you every time I broke your heart, every time I made you feel small, or was too harsh on you, or more recently, when I did not have the courage to tell you all this to your face. I do hope you forgive me._

_I hope that maybe, when I’m home next month, we can still meet in person. Just two kids who like each other, right? I don’t mean to write this with expectations of anything from you, though. I want to give you some time to think it over. You deserve the truth from me after all this time._

_No matter what, I want you to know that you are a remarkable person, Sterling Wesley, or TS, or whoever you present yourself as. You have made the past six years of my life infinitely better. You have been my good thing every day._

_Love, as always,_

_A(pril Stevens)_

_PS: Okay, I know I’m pouring my heart out here, but do you think the parentheticals were the way to go with the dramatic reveal of the signature? I considered_ **_A_** _pril Stevens or_ _A_ _pril Stevens, but I think I chose the best option._

_PPS: Isn’t that just it, though? You’re someone I want to talk to about everything from stylistic choices in a signature to grand romantic overtures. I never thought I would find that in a person, but unknowingly, unwittingly, I’ve had it with you for years._

Sterling reads it again. 

She reads it again and again until she’s crying and smiling and laughing and crying all over again. She knew _,_ she _knew,_ deep down that this was too big, too monumental, to be a coincidence, but seeing it spelled out in writing, in April’s perfect wonderful handwriting, makes something in Sterling’s chest that she didn’t even dare to name expand until it is no longer just in her chest, until it bursts into her bedroom, into her house, until the reaches of Sterling’s joy can maybe even reach a small Christian summer camp up in Clarkesville. 

When Sterling finally makes it back to the dining room, she doesn’t bother with any pleasantries. 

“I need to borrow the car.”

“Sterling,” her mom’s forehead wrinkles in concern. “Are you crying?”

“Oh, for sure. I need the car keys.”

“I’ll drive,” Blair says immediately, jumping up from the table, “you’re too much of a mess.”

“Do we get to know what you need the keys for?” Anderson asks. 

Debbie looks down at the letter still in Sterling’s hand. 

“Sterling Wesley, I am not letting you drive to God knows where to meet some girl you have never met.”

“Oh my God, Mom, it’s April!”

“Dope, official confirmation,” Blair says, too casually. 

“Oh, thank God,” Debbie exhales, less casually. 

“So y’all are friends again?” Anderson asks, mostly just confused.

“I don’t have time for this! I need to get to summer camp!”

Blair’s head whips to her.

_I’ll get the keys and deal with Mom and Dad. You go back upstairs and get ready. You are obligated to look cute for this._

Sterling looks down at her pajamas, and wipes some snot off her nose. 

_Good call. What would I do without you?_

_Probably literally die._

Twenty minutes later, Blair has the keys to the Volt and Sterling has a certified cute outfit on, having deemed the occasion fit for a shirt she bought when she was feeling particularly bold last summer, exposing a good amount of her stomach, and the part of her shoulders that she’s proud of. Blair gives her an appraising look when she gets in the car.

“Too slutty for summer camp?” Sterling asks.

“A perfect amount of slutty for summer camp,” Blair says with a grin, “now let’s fucking go.”

Google Maps tells them it will take one hour and 52 minutes to get there, but Blair does it in an even ninety. 

“I’m in awe of you,” Sterling says, as they turn sharply down the dirt road that leads to the camp. “Also the fact that you didn’t get pulled over is crazy.”

“Bowser taught me how to do that, actually.”

“Ooh, how?”

“He just said ‘just be a white girl.’”

“Wow, that really works, huh?”

“Yup.” 

The Volt makes its way up the dirt road until they are in an area that could generously be called a parking lot. As Sterling steps out, she vaguely hears the sound of children in the distance, but doesn’t see anyone. 

“So, uh, what’s the game plan here?” Blair asks.

Sterling looks around. “I didn’t really think that far. It was mostly just run to April and like, kiss a bunch, not a lot of logistics.”

“Rookie mistake.”

“I’m really emotional, okay! She used the word love, like, ten times.”

“Sterl, I am so happy for you, I promise, but you have also told me she used the word love, like, ten times, like, ten times.”

“It’s exciting!”

“I know! I’m excited too! I would be more excited if we could actually find April.”

“Oh, are you looking for Miss April?”

Blair and Sterling both whip around to see a child who can’t be more than eight standing near their car. 

“Jesus Christ!” Blair lets out. 

“You’re not supposed to take His name in vain,” the kid says. 

Blair looks like she could maybe kill this small child. Sterling shoots her sister a warning look, before crouching down on the ground so they are at eye level.

“Do you know where Miss April is?”

The kid nods.

“Can you tell me?”

“Your shirt is really small.”

“Don’t slut shame her, kid, just tell her where April is,” Blair growls. The kid flinches back a little. 

“Blair!”

“If you tell me, I’ll give you a piece of gum.”

Apparently bribery still works wonders on youth, because the kid immediately straightens up.

“She’s by the lake with _Tabitha_ ,” the kid says immediately, pointing. “Down that way, there are signs and stuff. Where’s my gum?”

Blair throws a full pack of gum at the kid.

“Thanks a lot,” Blair says sarcastically. 

“Thanks a lot!” Sterling says genuinely. 

Then they’re off. This is more like what Sterling pictured, running through a field (albeit a soccer field, but whatever), like she’s in the last scene of a movie.

“Hey!” Some teenager in a polo shirt yells as they zip past, “who are you guys? What are you doing here?”

“Go on,” Blair says, “I see the lake up ahead, I can distract him.”

“You’re my hero!” Sterling calls over her shoulder. 

“Duh.”

Sterling sees the lake too, makes a beeline for it, before stopping herself. There’s a smattering of picnic tables right before the grass drops off into sand and Sterling can spot two lone figures sitting at one of them. She feels herself grinning madly when she sees the back of a ponytail that can’t belong to anyone except April Stevens. 

She slows down as she approaches, catching her breath, which might not be totally lost just due to the running. As she gets closer, she can start to make out the conversation between April and one of the campers.

“It’s lame,” the girl, who Sterling assumes is Tabitha, is saying, “ _I’m_ lame.”

“You’re not lame,” April says, voice somehow firm and encouraging at the same time, “you know, I didn’t have that many friends when I was here either.”

“Really?”

“Oh definitely. I told myself that it was because I didn’t care about what anyone else thought, but if I’m being honest, I think I was just scared that no one would like me.”

Sterling’s heart breaks a little, thinking about April back then, thinking about how she unknowingly helped cause that fear. But then she thinks of April now, laughing at the park at _Mamma Mia_ , thinks of April’s eyes shining when she got a question right during finals prep, the small little smile she gets in the corner of her mouth when Sterling laughs at one of her jokes. 

“So what did you do?” Tabitha asks April. 

“She wrote letters,” Sterling says, coming up behind them, “and she found her people.” 

April whips around to face her, and Sterling had pictured this moment for so long, but even her fantasies couldn’t live up to the real thing. Sterling thinks she could write a whole book on the way April’s face looks now, shock morphing into pleasant surprise morphing into such a look of pure joy that Sterling can’t breathe for a second. 

“Yes, I did,” April says and Sterling just beams at her.

“I got your letter.”

April takes in a deep breath.

“What did you think?”

“I loved it.” Sterling drops her voice to a whisper. “Long story short, I really don’t think I can wait till the second week of July to kiss you.”

“Tabitha, can you give me a minute?” April says immediately, “I bet some of the kids down by the lake would want you to join their game. Think you could do that?”

Tabitha hesitates a moment before nodding. She looks at Sterling, then back to April.

“Your friend's shirt is really tiny,” she stage-whispers before running off. 

“I _knew_ this was too slutty for summer camp,” Sterling says. 

“I don’t know,” April says, eyes taking in Sterling’s shirt in a way that makes her warmer than the humidity around them, “I think it’s the perfect amount of slutty for summer camp.”

“Well,” Sterling says, face a little red, “you’re biased, you’re in - well, you said -” Suddenly overwhelmed, Sterling sits on the picnic bench next to April. “You meant it, right? Everything you said in that letter?”

April’s gaze is always intense, but right now, as her leg presses against Sterling’s leg and her hand reaches for Sterling’s hand and the summer heat beats down on them, Sterling feels that the power of April Stevens’ eye contact might be enough to reduce her to nothing but a puddle.

“Of course I meant it,” April says, intense and soft at the same time, “and I’m - sorry for the lying by omission and the way I treated you and the -”

“Oh my God,” Sterling takes April’s face in her hands. “I really don’t care right now.”

April's smile is huge and powerful and Sterling wants nothing more than to kiss it. 

So she leans in, like she’s wanted to for longer than she can even remember, her hands feeling the way April breathes sharply in, mouth so close to April’s until -

“Wait,” she says, “I just realized that this is, like, your very Christian place of employment right now, and I don’t know if you’re out to people here and-”

“Oh my God,” April’s voice is low and dangerous when she echoes Sterling’s words, “I really don’t care right now.”

Sterling is barely able to get her smile out before they’re kissing. 

April is soft and warm beneath her and, when Sterling closes her eyes, she can’t remember anything else, any other world besides the one where she gets to sit on a picnic table with April Stevens and kiss her like she’s wanted to for the past several days or weeks or months or years or all of the above. 

She doesn’t realize she’s crying until April’s hand brushes away her tears as she pulls back a little. 

“Don’t cry, TS,” she whispers, with a fond smile.

Sterling laughs a little. “I just… I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you so badly.”

“Well,” April says, eyes sparking, smiling that specific cocky smile that Sterling adores, “it’s me.” 

“Thank fucking God,” Sterling says and then they’re kissing again and April has a hand still on her check and the other is on her waist and Sterling has never been more happy that she dressed slutty for summer camp, when it means that she gets to feel April’s warm palm on her bare skin and she gets to feel April smiling against her mouth and, for these brief glorious minutes, she just gets to _feel._

For these minutes, the world around them doesn’t matter, the little instances that had kept them apart seeming small and insignificant compared to the feeling in Sterling's chest when April pulls her closer, compared the knowledge in her bones that this person has been beside her for years and will be for years to come. 

Later, they’ll both be forced to remember that other people exist in the world, and the reality will sink in that Sterling has to go back home, and she’ll kiss April against the side of the car for so long that Blair will have to intervene. 

Later, she’ll stay up all night re-reading old emails and start crying again, marveling at the world in which she’s found herself. 

Later, even though Blair makes fun of her for it, it will almost hurt how much she misses April, how much she longs to be in her presence, counting days until the second week of July. 

Later, when that same missing April settles in her bones, a constant wish to be in her presence, Sterling won’t let it get to her. She’ll sit down at her desk, like she has for so many years now, and she’ll write a letter to the girl she loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone keeping track at home, this story technically falls into the age old "friends to enemies to lovers to enemies to lovers to friends to lovers whilst secretly being friends the whole time" trope, what a journey!
> 
> In all seriousness though, y'all are the sweetest people, especially for a show that only aired 10 episodes (boo @ netflix) seven months ago (boo @ the inevitable passage of time). Thank you so much for reading all these words and typing in all caps in the comments and generally being so supportive! Seeing all these reactions has truly been a weekly highlight and I'll miss it so! Remember to light a candle for our lord and savior Nora Ephron tonight, stream You've Got Mail on HBO Max etc. etc.


End file.
